Keep the Blood in Your Head
by atetheredmind
Summary: AU. "Katniss Everdeen wanted him to live. She wanted him to come home. And he could do it, for her. He would. If there was anything worth fighting for now, it was her." Peeta Mellark is chosen as tribute for the 74th Hunger Games.
1. And me fresh out of rope

_**Author's note:** I know there are a few AU stories out there that follow the plot line of "What if Peeta went in to the games alone?" ("The Other Perspective" and "Reaping" are the first two I can think of; check them out). And the ones I've read are all good, but I typically hesitate on stories that remove Katniss as the main protagonist of "The Hunger Games" and the ultimate catalyst for the revolution. I enjoy having a female character serve as the protagonist, and I feel kind of guilty eliminating Katniss' role in the 74th Hunger Games. But I got a particular scene in my head for this AU, and I just couldn't shake it. So I went ahead and wrote it. I love the character of Katniss, but I do think Peeta is my favorite. Since we never really see his thoughts or his motivations, I think there's just a goldmine of things to explore with his character. I've always been interested in the reasoning behind a lot of his decisions and actions in the games, things we can only guess at through the the eyes of Katniss, who's a pretty unreliable narrator. I do hope to (and plan to) keep Katniss as an integral part of the plot and eventual revolution, but this will be a Peeta-heavy fic._

_I hope you enjoy reading this series as much as I've enjoyed writing it!_

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**I. And me fresh out of rope**

The summer sun beat down on her unbearably, and a bead of sweat meandered down her neck, trickling down her back to pool at her tailbone. The heat alone was bad enough, but being herded into the square with all the other kids, everyone trying to keep their limbs from touching each other more than necessary as they shuffled to their designated spots to await their fate, made the air even more stifling.

Katniss Everdeen surveyed the crowd, eyes meeting mostly the crowns of heads as she was too short to peer over most of the teenagers in her age group. The kids' faces to her left and right mirrored the dread and fear she was sure were etched in the lines of her own face. _Like lambs to a slaughter_, she thought as they all filed to the pit before the stage. She eyed the two bowls that adorned the stage, her gaze lingering on the one she knew to hold all the names of the girls in town, ages 12 to 18—and then some. She mentally counted the number of slips bearing the name Katniss Everdeen: 20. Then, with an added sense of trepidation, she thought of the one, lone slip bearing her little sister's name. Primrose Everdeen.

Twenty-one slips among thousands, probably tens of thousands. District 12 was a small town, but she knew many Seam kids, like herself and her best friend, Gale Hawthorne, had to enter their names into the reaping additional times every year in exchange for more tesserae, just to be able to eat. The odds were in her favor, she knew, but the thought did little to quell the anxiety knotting her stomach.

Finally, she heard a commotion on stage and watched as the one-woman Capitol circus, known as Effie Trinket, teetered up to the podium in her garish mint green garb and a ridiculous pink wig; the loud colors contrasted painfully with the coal-muted drab of her surroundings. Mayor Undersee followed the Capitol escort to the microphone, appearing solemn. Katniss knew the reaping was tough for him too; his daughter, Madge—Katniss' only friend outside of Gale—was also among the crowd. As the mayor began his speech, the same one he gave every year, Katniss scanned the crowd for her friend but couldn't spot her; there were many blond heads, the mark of the Merchant class, in the sea of dark-colored Seam hair. She saw Prim, though, her two pigtails and short stature easy to spot. As if sensing her stare, Prim craned her neck around and locked eyes with her sister; she tried to smile, but Katniss could see the fearful quiver of her chin, so she smiled as warmly as she could, nodding her head at the stage to tell her to pay attention. Prim ducked her head and faced forward, the tail of her too-big shirt wriggling loose from the back of her skirt. The sight squeezed at her heart, and Katniss swallowed against the lump in her throat.

The mayor finished his speech and took a seat next to Haymitch Abernathy, the only surviving Twelve victor of the Hunger Games—and the town drunk. Katniss' mouth twisted into a scowl, but her attention was drawn back to the podium when the speakers screeched as Effie fumbled with the mic.

She launched into her usual spiel about her duties as District 12's escort, concluding with a laughable throwaway line about being honored to represent their small coal town. "Happy Hunger Games!" she chirped, her bubbly excitement meeting a wall of stoicism from the crowd. "And may the odds be ever in your favor! Now, ladies first!"

As Effie wobbled over to the bowl, Katniss nearly doubled over from the terror knotting in her stomach; it felt like the entire crowd was holding its breath. _Not me, not me, not me,_ she pleaded silently, adding, _not Prim_.

"Coralie Langley!"

Her breath escaped her, and she closed her eyes in gratitude. Another year safe. She immediately felt a twinge of guilt as she watched Coralie Langley make her way to the stage. No, it wasn't her or Prim, but it was still someone she knew, someone from the Seam. Coralie was a girl in her grade; they had never spoken, but they had a few classes together over the years. She seemed nice enough, but Katniss knew, noting the girl's small frame and the tears streaming down her face, she didn't have a ghost of a chance in the games.

Once Coralie stood next to Effie, the pink-haired woman congratulated the poor girl and asked for any volunteers to take her place. No one in the crowd moved or spoke. After an awkward silence, Effie trotted to the second glass bowl, trying to drum up excitement for the boy tribute. When she pulled out a white slip, Katniss sent out a silent prayer for Gale's safety, closing her eyes in anticipation.

"Peeta Mellark!"

Her eyes snapped open, and her heart dropped to her stomach. Peeta Mellark! She watched her fellow classmate, with his stocky build and his curly blond hair, as he moved stiffly to the stage. How? How could his name have been chosen? He was Merchant, the baker's son, who had his fair share to eat every day. At 16, his name could only have been in there five times. Peeta Mellark, the boy who saved her life five years ago with a couple loaves of bread, thrown to her in secret. The bread had come at the lowest point in Katniss' life, only a few months after her father's death in the coal mines, when she was certain she and Prim were simply going to starve to death because their mother was too sick and depressed to work or move or even talk. She could still picture the angry welt on his cheek and the black eye he had received from his mother for burning those loaves so he could toss them to her in the rain. The act had stirred something in her, uncovering nearly forgotten knowledge of plants and hunting tips passed down by her father; from that moment on, Katniss knew what she could do to feed herself and Prim. That bread had literally saved her life.

She had never thanked him for his kindness, too embarrassed to confront him in school, too confused as to why he never acknowledged her beyond a cursory or lingering glance in school. And now, she'd likely never get the chance to thank him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't. She felt the blood rushing in her ears with the shame and anger of knowing this debt she owed him would go unpaid.

Glancing up at the stage, her eyes focused on him as he stopped in front of Effie. She felt dizzy and lightheaded all of a sudden, and before she knew it, a sound ripped from her throat. "No!"

Everything went impossibly silent as everyone's heads swiveled toward the source of the strangled cry; she felt every single pair of eyes on her, and her face flushed angrily. She couldn't breathe. She hadn't meant to say anything; the word had slipped out of her before she could think. She couldn't even remember the last time there had been an outburst like this at a reaping. Never, she would venture. Any kind of disturbance would be met with swift punishment by the Peacekeepers stationed around the square. Most kids were too relieved to have not been chosen to offer any kind of disapproval about the tributes chosen, even if it was a friend; even family members stayed eerily quiet, aside from slight disgruntlement when a 12- or 13-year old was chosen. She imagined parents started saying goodbye to their children the day they were born, knowing the potentially gruesome death that awaited them in mere years.

Unbidden, her eyes locked with Peeta's. He stared at her, mystified, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He must think her an absolute fool. Mortified, Katniss tore her eyes away from his face, but she dared not look at anyone in the crowd—she was certain she felt Gale's piercing gaze on the back of her head—so she desperately sought something else to train her eyes on. Unfortunately, that something else was Haymitch Abernathy, who, despite earlier had been slumped down in his seat snoring, was now looking at her keenly, suddenly very interested in the proceedings as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Oh, my!" Effie trilled, trying to break the tension that had settled over the square. She wrapped a finely manicured hand around Peeta's wrist and pulled him closer. "It sounds like you have a fan, Peeta Mellark! And who might that be, hmm? A girlfriend? A secret admirer?" she asked conspiratorially and shoved the microphone in his face, smiling suggestively at the crowd and at the cameras.

Peeta's mouth fell open, a choked sound lodging in his throat, but to his credit, he didn't respond. Focusing her eyes on the flag of Panem that draped over the Justice Building, Katniss forced herself to hold her head high. She trained her face into a mask of indifference, even though she wanted to curl up and disappear. No, this wasn't fair at all.

At this moment, Haymitch belched loudly and comically, breaking the discomfort of the moment. Katniss wondered briefly if he had done it on purpose. Effie shot Haymich a nasty look and cleared her throat, asking the obligatory request for boy volunteers. As expected, no one raised their hand, and Effie encouraged Peeta and Coralie to shake hands, which they obliged dutifully; Katniss noticed Peeta offer Coralie a small smile, but Coralie was too busy wiping snot from her nose to return it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a round of applause for our District 12 tributes, Coralie Langley and Peeta Mellark!" Effie cried into the microphone, clapping excitedly. But she was the only one, and when she realized this, she made an indignant sound, her face pinched, and she dropped her hands. Spinning on her impractically high heels, she ushered the tributes into the Justice Building with Haymitch, the mayor and the other officials following them inside.

As if on cue, everyone in the crowd began to disperse, moving slowly as they gave silent thanks they had survived another reaping. The kids located their families in the groups of spectators, hugging their parents, and the insufferably somber atmosphere lifted as relief settled in its place.

So, that was it. The spectacle was over, the tributes were chosen, and now Katniss would never see Peeta again. Not in person, at least. She would still see him on TV, as he was paraded around to the amusement of the Capitol and then as he died some horrible, painful death in the Hunger Games arena.

Her mouth felt dry; as she moved her tongue around, she became aware of her surroundings again. Prim was suddenly in front of her, reaching her arms out, and Katniss pulled her into a hug, momentarily grateful for her sister's safety. "You're okay, Little Duck," she said hoarsely. "Let's go find Mom."

They found Mrs. Everdeen standing next to the Hawthornes; Gale had already rounded up his brothers Vick and Rory, who were hugging their mother, Hazel, and affectionately rustling 4-year-old Posy's hair. Squeezing Prim's hand, Katniss tried to smile at Gale like nothing had happened, but although his mouth twitched in kind, he still squinted at her suspiciously.

"I didn't know you knew Peeta Mellark," he said almost accusingly as Prim dropped her hand and launched herself into Mrs. Everdeen's arms.

Katniss hoped her face didn't give her away, but she felt the corners of her mouth spasm. "I didn't—I don't," she said, trying to casually nod at Hazel and her other sons. "I just, I heard the name wrong." It was a stupid lie, and Gale didn't buy it, but he thankfully didn't push the issue.

"He's the baker's son," Prim offered helpfully; her eyes were sorrowful. "He decorates the cakes. He's nice."

This information startled Katniss; how did Prim know so much about him? They often stopped to stare at the beautiful cakes in the bakery window, mostly for Prim's sake, but Katniss just assumed the baker frosted them. How did Prim find this out? Had she talked to Peeta at the bakery or at school, when Katniss hadn't been around? It unsettled her that her little sister had possibly said more words to the baker's son than she herself had, and she was still going to let him march off to his death without so much as a "Thanks for saving my life." Was she really that stubborn and heartless?

"I—" she had started to say before she knew what she wanted to say. She licked her lips and started over, cautiously, "I know the girl, though. Coralie. We have—_had_ classes together. We helped each other with homework a lot. I should say goodbye to her." Another lie. This one came out easier, but she doubted it was any more believable. She tugged on one of Prim's braid, smiling at her. "I'll meet you two back at the house, okay?"

Her mother gave her a strange look but nodded nonetheless. Katniss waved at the Hawthornes, purposefully glazing past Gale's stony face, and walked quickly back in the direction of the Justice Building. The tributes got an hour to say goodbye to family and friends before they were put on the train to be shuttled to the Capitol. She bounded up the steps and was about to turn down the main hall, but she halted in her tracks when she saw Peeta's family walking toward her.

Shocked, Katniss quickly jumped out of the way, pressing her back against the stone wall of the building. But his mother saw her, and when his family stepped outside, Mrs. Mellark sized her up with a scowl. "You—" she snarled, but Mr. Mellark pushed his wife forward.

"Let's go home," he said gruffly, but he offered Katniss a weak smile. His red-rimmed eyes looked haunted. Glowering at her, Mrs. Mellark eventually snapped her head forward and hurried off. Her husband and Peeta's two older brothers followed behind her, shuffling down the steps in grim resignation.

Her heart was racing. She wasn't sure what she had done to incur Mrs. Mellark's wrath, but she figured it had to do with her being from the Seam. She remembered the insults the baker's wife had hurled at her that fateful night as Katniss scurried away from the bakery's trash cans and collapsed out of hunger and exhaustion, before Peeta threw her the bread.

Her nerves rattled, Katniss lingered outside the building as other people, mostly kids from school, periodically filed out of the Justice Building. She could guess, by the number of fair-skinned, light-haired kids leaving, how many were there to see Peeta. He was popular at school, she knew, well-liked among their peers. She felt her confidence deflate; Peeta had a lot of friends in his life, people who surely occupied his mind more than some Seam girl he gave bread to once years ago. She couldn't even be sure he remembered.

One girl passed her, crying freely. Katniss recognized her—Delly Cartwright, another girl in her grade. The blonde was often in Peeta's company, and Katniss assumed she was Peeta's best friend. Girlfriend, maybe, judging by how hard she was crying. Her brother was at her side, trying to console her as he led her away.

Katniss was surprised by the next girl who passed by her. "Madge!" she called out before she could stop herself. The mayor's daughter turned to her, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. Unlike Delly, Madge was not crying, but her mouth was set in a stern line. Her lips quirked in a slight smile in greeting as she approached. "Who…?" Katniss didn't know how to ask what she wanted to know, but Madge picked up on her question.

"Peeta."

"I didn't know you knew him," she said, echoing Gale's words. Madge's shoulder lifted in a shrug.

"We used to be closer, in grade school," she said, her face softening. "I used to call him my boyfriend when we were 8. I tried to kiss him once, but he politely turned me down, saying he didn't want to ruin our friendship. He was always the diplomat." She smiled sardonically.

"Oh." Katniss didn't know what to say. She and Madge were friends, though they didn't usually talk much when they hung out, but she was still surprised by how little she knew about the girl who sat with her at lunch every day.

"I wanted to give him my pin," Madge continued. Katniss recalled the gold pin Madge had been wearing earlier that day when she and Gale had sold her some strawberries. "They allow tributes to take a token with them, from home, into the arena. I just thought he might like to have something that he can look at and think of home when he's—away."

"Oh," she said again stupidly. Madge looked up at the clock tower in the square and glanced back at Katniss with a knowing smile.

"If you want to say goodbye, you should do it now. There's not much time left." With a small wave, Madge walked away.

Knowing she couldn't waste any more time, Katniss gritted her teeth and slipped into the Justice Building. Ahead, a kid her age she vaguely recognized as a friend of Peeta's walked out of a room, shutting the door behind him. He didn't even acknowledge her as he passed. Katniss paused outside the door, and the Peacekeeper guarding the room gave her a pointed look. "You've got three minutes," he said, nodding her in. "We have to wrap this up and get him on the train."

Tentatively, Katniss twisted the doorknob and pushed it open. His blue eyes were immediately on her. For a moment, she stood dumbly in the doorway before she forced herself to take a step inside and shut the door behind her. Peeta stood up from the couch, but neither of them spoke yet. Finally, he stepped toward her, then stopped. She noticed the tear tracks on his cheeks, and she wasn't sure why she was so startled to see he had been crying. "Katniss," he said, his voice soft. She realized suddenly that was the first word he had ever said to her. "You came."

Had he expected her? Of course, after her outburst, he was probably curious why a surly, standoffish girl from the Seam who had never spoken to him would cry out when his name was chosen. But his voice sounded so…happy. There was something else in the depths of his startlingly blue eyes that she couldn't decipher either.

She finally found her voice. "I wanted—" No, that wasn't right. "I needed to—to…I came to thank you. For the bread." She hoped he would remember, so she wouldn't have to endure the shame of retelling the story to him.

He blinked. His mouth seemed to curve into a frown. "Oh. The bread." He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You don't have to thank me for that. It was the right thing to do. And I couldn't stand—" he stopped himself though, and what he couldn't stand, she guessed she would never know.

They fell silent again, staring at each other. Katniss grew increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze; he was looking at her like he was sad he was never going to see her again, like she was the one who was being shipped off to her death and not him. How ludicrous. "You saved my life," she blurted, surprising even herself, but she had wanted to shake off the unsettling feeling beginning to take hold in her chest. "And Prim's. You saved our lives. With the bread. It mattered a, a great deal…to us."

He smiled sadly then, dipping his head. "I'm glad then."

She stared at the blond curls on the top of his head, noticing the scattering of golden brown locks amidst all the white yellow strands. "I should go now," she said tremulously, clenching her fists.

His head snapped back up, his eyes wide. "Wait! Wait. You can't go yet," he begged, stepping closer toward her as he pulled his hands out of his pockets. "I need to tell you…I need to tell you that I—"

"Don't!" she snapped, suddenly seized with fear, and her hand shot out to halt him. She could see it in his eyes, what he needed to say, etched all over the honest planes of his face, and she just couldn't bear to hear it. He looked at her, dumbstruck. "Don't you dare! I can't…That's not fair! You can't do this to me right now, when you…" Her voice cracked, and she couldn't finish.

Peeta swallowed thickly, and he nodded in defeat. "Okay." He looked away, his eyes swimming.

She stared at him quietly for a moment, then held out her hand to him for a handshake. Confused, he considered her hand before slowly grasping it in his own. His hand was warm, soft; kneading dough must have kept his hands pretty pliable. She suddenly felt self-conscious about her own calloused, bony hands. "Just…try to win," she told him, meeting his eyes again. "And…when you come back, you can tell me then."

She meant it. She didn't understand why, but she realized then how desperately she wanted him to come back home. He was the boy with the bread. He was somebody important. To her, at least.

Something flickered in his eyes, and he smiled sadly at her, giving her hand a tiny squeeze before letting her go. "I'll try," he whispered.

Just then, the Peacekeeper opened the door, causing her to jump. "Time's up," he said gruffly, putting a hand on her shoulder to steer her out of the room. The roughness of his touch sent a peal of fear and desperation down her spine.

"You're strong!" she exclaimed suddenly, stumbling backward as the Peacekeeper pulled her out of the room. "I've seen you with the flour bags at the bakery, and—and you came in second in the wrestling competition. Make sure they know that!"

Stunned, Peeta watched her leave, straining his neck to peer around the Peacekeeper. "Katniss—"

But the Peacekeeper slammed the door shut once Katniss was in the hallway. She huffed at the guard, but his hand tightened around his gun threateningly, so she looked at the wooden door that now separated her and Peeta one last time, before she turned around—and nearly collided with Haymitch. She gasped but immediately clamped her mouth shut, pushing her shoulders back to stand up tall.

He squinted at her for a moment, the fumes he emitted nearly choking her. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked finally, pulling a flask out of his crumpled jacket and twisting the cap off to take a sip.

Katniss wrinkled her nose as he drank, but she answered him, "Katniss Everdeen."

He seemed to consider this. "Everdeen, eh? Silas Everdeen's daughter." The mention of her father startled her, and she blinked at him, her mouth twisting into a frown. "Good man," he said solemnly, surprising her yet again. She couldn't imagine her father ever consorting with the likes of Haymitch Abernathy. "I've seen you trading at the Hob, yeah?"

The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and she stiffened, glancing back at the Peacekeeper. He wasn't looking at them, but Haymitch picked up on her concern and guided her back toward the square. He continued, his voice low, "I've seen the squirrels you bring to Greasy Sae. Clean shot through the eye every time. You must be pretty good with a bow."

If she weren't so paranoid about a Peacekeeper or some kind of Capitol attendant overhearing him, she would be flattered by his compliment. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said coolly, eager to leave his presence and his stench.

Haymitch laughed, and they stopped outside of the Justice Building. He gave her one more look, seeming to size her up. "I bet you'd do pretty well in the games," he said, almost to himself. With another pull from his flask, he turned to walk back into the building.

Watching his retreating form, she called after him, "You better help him."

He turned around slowly, the look on his face unreadable. Then, he smirked at her. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I got plans for Peeta Mellark."

She didn't know why, but his words sent chills down her back.

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_Disclaimer: I like to use song lyrics for titles._

_Reviews much appreciated!_


	2. I don't want to be a soldier

**II. I don't want to be a soldier**

Effie and Haymitch were bickering over the dining table across from him, but Peeta was too entranced with the beverage he was drinking to care what their argument was about. Hot chocolate. It was too hot to drink, really, and it burned his tongue, but Peeta gulped it down anyway. He had never tasted chocolate before; the cacao needed to make chocolate was too expensive to purchase even through the bakery. They had a brown coloring they could add to frosting, but it wasn't chocolate; most of the cakes they made were from a white or yellow batter. As he poured himself another cup of the scalding beverage, he thought about how good chocolate would taste in some of the flaky rolls and pastries they made back home.

That gave him an idea; Peeta snatched a breakfast roll from the table and dipped it into the hot chocolate. As he bit into it, he had to stop himself from moaning out loud. Coralie, who sat opposite him, must have noticed his facial expression, because she looked at him curiously. Grinning sheepishly, he gestured to the mug of hot chocolate grasped in her own hand. "It's really good. Try it." She did, and she made a funny, satisfied sound before she scarfed the rest of the food down.

Peeta tried to restrain himself while eating the rest of his breakfast. He learned his lesson the first day, as he spent a good chunk of the night retching in the bathroom after stuffing himself on all the rich food. They were still on the train on their way to the Capitol, so he had the added motion to contend with as they barreled through tunnels and over hills and bodies of water. Whenever he felt himself getting nauseous, he forced himself to take small sips of water for a few minutes until it felt safe again to take another bite. He had never had anything as delicious as the food here; most everything he ate at home was stale, the leftovers of the day. But he knew he was lucky in that regard; he wondered how many past District 12 tributes were just grateful to get a decent meal before they were shipped off to die.

The thought immediately soured his mood, and he pushed his plate away. When he looked up, Haymitch was eyeing him critically, as if he could sense the change in Peeta's demeanor. Peeta realized then that Effie was no longer in the dining room; he must have been too absorbed in his food to notice her leave. Clearing his throat, Peeta sat up in his chair. "So, when are we going to talk about strategy? What should we expect in training? What's your advice?" he directed at their mentor.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow, and Coralie looked stricken by his words, as if the decadent food had momentarily distracted her from the thought of the games. "Slow down, boy," he drawled, taking a gulp of whatever alcohol was in his cup. "I've never had someone so eager to get themselves killed."

Peeta's mouth tightened. "I'm not eager to—I just want to know what's going to happen next, what we should do."

Haymitch snorted derisively, pouring some red liquid into his now empty glass. "I can't help you until I know a little something about you two. So, let me hear it. What are your skills?"

Coralie looked scared as her eyes flitted back and forth between Peeta and Haymitch. "I don't—I don't have any skills, I don't think."

Peeta's face softened as he looked at her, and he offered a small smile. "Well, I don't really have any skills either, unless you count baking bread and frosting cakes," he said, looking back at Haymitch.

"Sorry, kid, but I don't think that'll help you," Haymitch said, rolling his eyes. "I doubt this will be the year they turn the arena into a giant kitchen and ask all the tributes to put down their weapons and compete in a friendly bake-off instead."

Their mentor's cavalier attitude was starting to wear on Peeta's patience. "That's very funny. Maybe you should become a comedian. You might have more success than you do as a mentor."

They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, and Coralie fidgeted nervously. Finally, Haymitch leaned back in his seat and scoffed. "Well, you've got some balls, I'll give you that, kid," he said. "Watching your interview with Caesar should be amusing, at least." Grabbing a blueberry muffin, he slathered some butter on it before he continued, giving Peeta an appraising glance, "You look like you've got a sturdy build. How strong are you?"

Peeta blinked. "I don't know. I guess I can lift a decent amount of weight. I have to carry a lot of flour bags around at home," he said. Then he remembered what Katniss had said to him at the Justice Building. "I can wrestle pretty well. I'm the second best wrestler at our school." That wasn't entirely true, though. He would have been the best if he hadn't purposefully thrown the match with his brother Rye. While stronger, Rye was hotheaded and impatient; Peeta was good at spotting his opponents' weaknesses. But being the youngest, beating his older brother would have been bad form in his family; he could only imagine the hell he would have gotten from his mother if he had shamed Rye or hurt his possibility for a future, lucrative marriage to the daughter of some well-to-do Merchant family. Peeta didn't care about titles or rankings, anyway. In the Capitol, they were all meaningless now, weren't they?

Nodding thoughtfully, Haymitch took a bite of his muffin and spoke around his mouthful, "That's something, at least."

Suddenly, Peeta felt weird, talking up his skills in front of Coralie. It didn't feel right, when surely every strength he possessed was just a detriment to her. Another nail in her coffin. One look at her face, and Peeta knew she was thinking the same thing. Her face was pale. He felt sick again. "What good is that? How often do tributes have to wrestle each other to death in the arena?" he asked ruefully, taking a small sip of water to ease his stomach.

"Don't rule it out so quickly. A lot of matches come down to hand-to-hand combat. If you can get your hands on a knife, you'll be grateful you know how to wrestle," Haymitch said bluntly.

Maybe the thought was meant to reassure him, but it just made him feel worse. He didn't want to know how to kill someone else. He just wanted to know how to survive. Regardless, he knew his survival meant the death of 23 other kids; he didn't even know how to process that yet, but he thought he understood now why Haymitch drank so much.

Thankfully, Haymitch seemed to pick up on Peeta's reluctance to discuss it anymore. "Anyway, we can talk about strategy later, once you've been to the Training Center. Then you can get an idea of what you might be good at. First, you've got to meet your stylists this morning. You're not going to like what they do to you, trust me, but try not to give them any shit for it. No matter how awful or degrading. You'll be grateful for it later. These Capitol clowns love a good makeover," he said wryly, and Peeta and Coralie nodded slowly. "Also, during the tribute parade tonight and in training, I want you two to put up a united front. Do you understand me? Be friendly, talk to each other, help each other out at the training stations. The more we can get people talking about you two, the better."

With that, Haymitch rose unceremoniously from the table, forgoing his glass and just snatching up the entire bottle of alcohol. He ambled out of the car, mumbling something about being "too sober for this" and leaving Peeta and Coralie in an uncomfortable silence.

Later, Peeta sat on a cool metal table alone in the Remake Center, rubbing the stinging skin around his brow line as he waited for his stylist. Three assistants had spent a couple hours scrubbing and buffing him from head to toe. After they had pulled him out of the shower, they had lathered some kind of depilatory cream on his face and chest to remove any pitiable trace of hair that was attempting to grow; they had told him the cream would also prevent any hair from regrowing for a few years. He had wanted to tell them that was a pretty ambitious goal, considering his chances of living for a few more years were pretty slim, but the trio were so peppy and oblivious, and he had reminded himself of Haymitch's words to not give them a hard time.

Still, he hadn't been able to help the gasp of pain when one assistant, Cirrus, had ripped a wax strip—and several errant eyebrow hairs—from his forehead. "You should be glad you're not the girl tribute," Cirrus had giggled, slathering another dab of hot wax under Peeta's other eyebrow. Peeta had gritted his teeth and smiled.

"I am because, otherwise, I wouldn't have met you three," he had said with as much charm as he could muster, and the three had nearly fallen over themselves with giddy elation—but not before Cirrus had ripped off the second wax strip.

The door swooshed open, and Peeta glanced up as a young woman strode into the room. Her skin was like the color of the cinnamon sticks they used in the bakery, and her hair was a mess of platinum blonde curls. Her black-painted lips pulled into a smile at the sight of him. As she approached him, she held out her hand. "Hello, my name is Portia. I'm your stylist."

Peeta smiled at her, shaking her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Portia. I'm Peeta."

Her smile widened, but when she pulled her hand away, she stopped to consider him, the skin between her eyebrows pinching together as her lips curved down. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Peeta," she said solemnly.

Her apology surprised him, and his mouth parted wonderingly. Then he chuckled sadly, "For what, the reaping or the amount of skin and body hair I just lost?" The corners of her eyes and her mouth crinkled in slight amusement, but her eyes still looked at him earnestly, so Peeta continued, musing, "You know, I think you're the first person who's actually said that to me."

Portia nodded and suddenly clasped her hands together, all business again. "Well, I can't change what happened to you, but I can hopefully affect what happens to you from here on out. My partner, Cinna, is dressing your fellow tribute. We spent a lot of time brainstorming and designing your outfits for tonight's tribute parade, trying to come up with a more, ah, inspired way to incorporate your district's industry, coalmining. We think you're going to like what we've come up with."

Peeta recalled what past outfits had looked like, which were usually a tacky rendition of coalminer outfits or, worse, just coal dust. He couldn't imagine how Portia and Cinna could have possibly made their parade outfits look attractive, but he withheld his skepticism, joking, "As long as I'm not naked, I think I'll be comfortable with whatever."

She laughed lightly, and for a moment, Peeta was sure she was going actually going to strip him naked and dust him with coal. "You're a baker, aren't you?" He nodded apprehensively, and she just grinned mischievously. "Well, I hope that means you're pretty comfortable with fire."

* * *

Peeta was no stranger to fire—pulling metal pans right out of the oven without an oven mitt, accidentally bumping hot racks and, of course, pulling burnt loaves of bread from the coals; once, his mother had even held his hand down on a hot loaf pan when the bread had failed to rise because he had forgotten to add the yeast; he never made that mistake again. But he couldn't say he was really pleased with the idea of being lit on fire. Both Portia and Cinna had assured him and Coralie that the fire for their costumes was synthetic and that they wouldn't feel a thing, but as they lined up to board their chariot for the parade, Peeta promised Coralie, only half-jokingly, he would put her out if she did the same for him.

After he and Coralie had climbed into the chariot, Cinna lit their black unitards on fire. Peeta winced, waiting for the burn or even a flicker of heat. But the synthetic flames just billowed behind them, and Peeta sighed in relief, grabbing Coralie's hand as Cinna instructed. She seemed a little uncomfortable by this action—or maybe she was just terrified of the fake fire that threatened to consume them, he wasn't sure. He tried to squeeze her hand in a comforting gesture, but she was mesmerized by the roaring crowds ahead of them as each district chariot rolled out in the procession.

As the horses leading their chariot pulled them into the large, open coliseum, Peeta glanced around at the thousands of Capitol citizens who filled the stadium. He noticed as, one by one, they turned their attention to the District 12 chariot; gasps of awe and screams of excitement rose up through the crowd, and they pointed and waved at the last tributes. Despite his nerves, he slipped into a persona of ease and affability, plastering a dazzling smile on his face, waving back to the crowd. Soon, it seemed every eye was on them, even those of the other tributes, and their fiery visages filled up every screen in the coliseum. He began to hear chants of their names and "District 12!" He caught the eye of one spectator as she reached an arm toward him, yelling, "Peeta! Peeta!" He winked deliberately at her and had to bite back a laugh as she swooned, latching onto her friend to hold herself up. Roses rained down on them, and he caught one, to the delight of its bestower. Grinning, Peeta glanced at Coralie; she was waving to the crowds, but her face looked pinched, fear haunting her eyes. He offered the rose to her, and her face twisted in astonishment and confusion. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "Try to smile. We want them to love us. They're eating this up. Who knows? Someone here might sponsor us."

Comprehension dawned in her eyes, and she plastered a wide smile on her face, though Peeta could tell it didn't reach her eyes. She took the rose from him, sniffed it and tossed it back into the crowd where a few attendants began pushing and shoving each other to get it. Peeta nudged her. "Nice touch," he said quietly. This time her smile was genuine.

The next day, Peeta was extremely aware of the glares a few tributes sent their way in the Training Center, particularly those from Districts 1, 2 and 4. He attempted to remain as nonchalant and as attentive as possible as Atala, the head trainer, spoke. When it was time to explore the stations, he remembered Haymitch's advice to avoid the weights and combat area so as not to reveal his hand; he and Coralie spent a lot of time at the edible plants and snares stations, learning some skills he knew would be necessary in the arena. He tried to engage Coralie in light banter, but she was too nervous and jittery to really converse. A lot of the stations seemed to frustrate her until they got to the climbing and agility course, where she excelled, no doubt due in part to her small stature. Peeta knew that in the arena, his best bet was on the ground, so he ventured over to the camouflage station and its supplies of natural materials, which he had been itching to get his hands on all morning.

He passed the weapons station on his way over, and his heart clenched when he saw the District 1 girl, Glimmer, attempting to shoot a bull's eye with a bow and arrow; he thought of Katniss, and when Glimmer's arrow hit the outer edge of the target, he bit back a smile, knowing Katniss' arrow would have hit dead center. He had a feeling Katniss would do well in the games, probably even win; she could set up camp in a tree while living on squirrels and picking off people with her arrows.

Her visit to him at the Justice Building came to his mind, as it had many times since he had boarded the train for the Capitol. And before that even, her outburst at the reaping when his name had been called. These thoughts often left him mystified; she was a mystery to him. No matter how many times he had studied her over the years, he couldn't figure her out. Why had she cared enough to object to his reaping, to see him off even though they had never spoken before? He hadn't even been sure she knew his name before that day. To thank him for some bread? Really? There had to be something else, another reason—

Peeta stifled a groan, shaking himself from his reverie as he threw himself headfirst into the camouflage station. He could try to parse Katniss' motivations at another time, when he was alone in his room; he needed to focus on his training now. Understanding her reasoning and inner workings wasn't going to be what kept him alive in the arena.

The next few days of training passed in a haze; the fear in his stomach grew steadily as they got closer to the games, and exhaustion settled deep in his bones as he tossed and turned at night, sleep often evading him. Coralie didn't fare much better, especially once their training scores were announced after their private sessions with the gamemakers; Peeta pulled an 8, which was a decent number, but Coralie only scored a 4, even less than the tiny 12-year-old female from District 11. There was little anyone could say to comfort her, and Peeta hardly slept that night, worried for himself, for his district partner and about his interview with Caesar the next night. He knew the interview was his chance to shine; he was good with people, but he still hadn't worked out a way to make the viewers give a damn about him. The fire that had stoked some excitement and interest in them the first night could only burn for so long.


	3. I lie for only you

_Disclaimer: Some of the best parts of "The Hunger Games" are the one-liners spoken by the characters, particularly Peeta and Haymitch. I really did enjoy a lot of the dialogue Suzanne Collins wrote, so I like to incorporate these lines (from the first and second books specifically) in different situations, sometimes expressed slightly differently. I guess they're kind of like "easter eggs" to the THG fandom._

* * *

**III. I lie for only you, and I lie well, hallelujah**

After a tense breakfast the next morning, Haymitch steered Peeta into a private room to discuss his strategy for that night's interview. Peeta was hoping his mentor had a brilliant plan up his sleeve because so far, all Peeta had come up with were a few jokes about the shower in his room. He was not prepared for Haymitch's first words, however.

"So, who is Katniss Everdeen to you?"

Peeta felt like he had been punched in the stomach. "Wha..." he breathed, his wide eyes gawking at Haymitch, who casually drank from his cup.

"Let's not dick around with each other," the older man said sharply. "She seemed particularly displeased when you were chosen at the reaping, and I know she visited you at the Justice Building. So, who is she to you?"

His heart was pounding. Who was she to him? "She's...a classmate." Haymitch raised a disbelieving eyebrow, so Peeta took a deep breath. "And...I think I'm in love with her."

Nodding, Haymitch swirled the liquid in his cup, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "And does she feel the same?"

Peeta's cheeks flamed with embarrassment. "No. I mean...we had never spoken before that day. I don't think so." Then why was she there? "I guess...I don't know."

"Unrequited love, eh?" Haymitch mused. "Even better."

"I'm sorry, how is that better?" Peeta asked dubiously, utterly confused by the direction of this conversation.

"Tragic, I guess is a better word for it." Haymitch smirked. "But that doesn't really explain why she reacted the way she did when you were reaped or why she came to see you after."

Sighing, Peeta shrugged and slumped down in his armchair. "She just wanted to thank me for some bread I gave her years ago." Now Haymitch was confused, so Peeta launched into the story, "It was after her dad died in the mines. She and Prim had no food, no way to provide for themselves. They were starving, literally starving to death. I saw Katniss outside our bakery one day, actually scrounging for food scraps in our trash cans before my mother scared her off. She was skin and bones, Haymitch. When I saw her, I thought—that was it; she was just going to collapse out there by the apple tree and never get up again. It shook me to my core. So I burnt a couple of loaves on purpose because I knew my mother would make me throw it out; she would rather the pigs eat the bread than feed it to a starving Seam girl. When she wasn't looking, I tossed them to Katniss." He still remembered watching her through the bakery window as she stared suspiciously at the bread, as if she couldn't believe anyone would ever show her such charity, before she greedily stuffed them under her shirt and ran off. "I should have gone out to her, though, said something..." he trailed off, ashamed that his fear of his mother had kept him from doing anything more for Katniss.

Haymitch was silent for a while, considering Peeta's story. Finally, he laughed slightly, shaking his head. "Jesus, kid, how long have you carried a torch for this girl?"

"A long time," Peeta confessed sheepishly, but it felt good to open up to someone about his long-harbored crush; he had never talked to anyone about Katniss, though he suspected his dad knew. "Since I was 5."

Haymitch whistled. "Boy, you sure can pick 'em, you know that, right? Your girl's got about as much charm as a dead slug."

Bristling, Peeta was quick to defend her, "She's not that bad. She's loyal and passionate and smart, and she's fiercely protective of the people she loves—"

"And she's stubborn and sullen and unpleasant to talk to," Haymitch finished.

"She just doesn't understand the effect she can have on people," Peeta insisted, annoyed. "She's had a rough life. She lost her father, and she's had to take care of her entire family."

"And your mother beats you while starving you of any physical and emotional affection, but I still find your company a lot more enjoyable than hers."

For the second time in a span of only a few minutes, Peeta felt all the air leave his body. "How did you..." He swallowed, and his palms felt sweaty all of a sudden.

"Lucky guess," Haymitch muttered wryly, gulping down the rest of his beverage. "Your mother's sterling behavior ain't exactly a secret back home, Peeta. I can see it all over your face when you talk about her. Plus, I'm a bit of an expert when it comes to using humor to deflect attention and suspicion from any personal pain."

Peeta was shocked, and for the first time he began to wonder about Haymitch's past. "Sounds like you speak from personal experience," he croaked, wiping his palms on his pants.

Shrugging, Haymitch slammed his empty glass down. "Let's focus on you. I asked about Katniss because she created a little bit of a buzz among Capitol viewers. You're a good-looking kid, and you're charming; Caesar's going to ask about any girlfriend you might have back home so he can ask about what happened at the reaping."

"Haymitch, I can't—I'm not going to do that to her, insinuate something's happening with us when there isn't," Peeta said earnestly. "If people back home think she and I have something going on or were ever doing anything...She would be humiliated. I'm not going to make her life that much harder for her. She would hate me."

"Listen, kid, would you rather she hate you or would you rather be dead?" Haymitch snapped, and Peeta just stared at him. Shaking his head, his mentor continued, "Nevermind, don't answer that. You've got 'martyr' written all over your face. You don't have to lie about anything. Just be honest about how you feel about her. These Capitol freaks, they just want a good show. You can give them one about romance and unrequited love, and they'll eat that shit up. It'll help humanize you with this crowd."

"But that's not going to be enough," Peeta interjected, furrowing his eyebrows as he processed Haymitch's plan. "I might garner a few sympathetic sponsors, but what do I do once I'm in the games?"

Haymitch stared him down, crossing his arms over his chest as he thought. "Well, kid, that's when you ally with the Careers."

Peeta blinked and then laughed out loud. "I'm sorry, you must be slurring your words because it sounded like you told me to team up with the Careers." Haymitch just stared at him in amusement. "Okay, you're not joking. Please explain this brilliant plan to me."

"You're smart, Peeta, but let's be honest. You're not made for the wild; you don't know how to hunt, and you don't know how to survive on the fruits of the land," Haymitch explained. "I have no idea what the arena will be, but if you stick with the careers, you'll have easy access to food, water, weapons. You'll need that because I can't guarantee I'll get enough money from sponsors to send you much of anything."

This was true. He familiarized himself with some plants and traps while in training, but he knew hunting was something that required years of practice. "And how exactly do I get the Careers to take me in instead of, oh, I don't know, immediately slitting my throat?" he asked. "Did you talk to their mentors about an alliance?"

"No point. Tributes from those districts would have no interest in teaming with a tribute from District 12, even with a score of 8. You're strong, and I think you could hold your own against them, but you need to deal with Cato, from District 2, directly. He's the one you need to worry about," Haymitch said. "As to how you can persuade them to let you join their pack, well, I trust you to use that sparkling wit and silver tongue of yours. Convince them."

This all sounded incredibly risky to Peeta. "You're putting a lot of faith in my ability to charm people," he muttered.

"Maybe you're not putting enough," Haymitch replied nonchalantly, getting up to raid the stash of liquor at the bar. "I've seen you talking with Coralie, with Effie, the stylists, your prep team. They all freakin' love you. Because you're personable, but I think you're also pretty good at manipulating those around you and the situations you're in." Peeta blanched slightly at his words, and Haymitch plopped back down on the couch with a bottle of brandy. "Maybe that's news to you, but I mean no offense. Hell, if it were me, I'd consider it a compliment."

Maybe it was true. He did well during debates at school, he knew he needed to throw the wrestling match with Rye, and he had even learned what kind of lies to tell his mother to avoid being hit—most of the time, at least. If someone suffering from violent tendencies and irrational anger wanted to smack you, sometimes they were just going to smack you.

Something about this plan didn't sit right with him. "Working with the Careers...people are going to think I'm a traitor," he said hesitantly. "The people in District 12, I mean. No one likes the tributes from those districts, and they're vicious and bloodthirsty and violent. That's not me. I just...what's going to happen if I come back home? People back home aren't going to like what I've done, what I was privy to."

Haymitch stared at him. He stared at him so long, Peeta shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the scrutiny. "I can't lie to you, kid. I don't think the folks back home will be too pleased with you either. Though if you're coming back with a year's worth of food, they might be willing to overlook a few transgressions." Haymitch paused, tapping the mouth of his bottle as he mulled over his next words. "Everyone in these games has to do something they don't want to do, something they'd never thought they'd have to do. And most people, watching from the comfort of their homes, won't ever understand that. But...it's okay to want to survive, Peeta. That's all any of us are trying to do in this world."

Sighing, Peeta slumped in his seat. He didn't know what to say to that, didn't know how to articulate how upset he was by the idea that people he knew, people he cared about, might think him a monster. "And what am I supposed to do once I join the Careers?"

"Try to stay alive, kid." Haymitch's words were so matter of fact, Peeta wanted to laugh. Easier said than done.

"Coralie," Peeta said suddenly, changing the topic. "What about her? What are you going to tell her to do?"

The older man's entire demeanor changed, his face hardening, and he took a swig from the bottle. "Her strategy is going to be to get the hell out of Dodge. She's not up for the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Her best bet is to lie low—or high, rather. In trees, preferably, if there are any."

"Lie low? That doesn't seem like much of a strategy."

Haymitch grunted, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "Well, for most tributes in the games, lying low is about the best they can hope for," he said caustically.

Peeta blinked at his mentor a few times as realization dawned on him, and he sat up straight. "You're not planning to do much to help her, are you?" It wasn't really a question.

"I'm going to help her as much as I can," Haymitch said elusively. Another sip of brandy.

"But...you're focusing on me," Peeta said slowly. "You're going to focus any money and sponsors on me, aren't you?"

Haymitch didn't say anything for a moment, picking at the label on the glass bottle. Finally, "I can only hope to bring one of you home, kid."

Peeta's head dropped into his hands. "Christ," he groaned, the sound muffled. "So you're going to trade her life for mine. How the hell am I supposed to be okay with that? How can you make that decision?"

"What did you think was going to happen in these games, boy?" Haymitch snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "What, did you think you were going to get out there, build a campfire and sit around it while you all sang 'Kumbaya' like friends? And President Snow was just going to have a change of heart and decide to let you all go back home alive? Stop living in a fantasy, kid. Twenty-three of you are going to die, and I'm just hoping the survivor is one of mine."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Peeta sighed in distress. "I just...it's a lot to accept, that others have to die so you can live. I'm not sure I can live with that. I'm not sure how _you_ live with that," he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose to ward of tears.

"If you're lucky, maybe you'll get to find out," Haymitch said grimly. "If you live, you'll see. The kind of choices you have to make." With that, he emptied the rest of the brandy down his throat.

* * *

His session with Effie went easily enough; she didn't have to instruct him much on etiquette, and she was happy to blather on about how "darling" he was and how "well-behaved" he was compared to past District 12 tributes and wasn't it just so amazing to be in the Capitol, even if it was just for a few days, to enjoy its beauties and luxuries and, oh, wasn't he just so excited to see what everyone else was wearing tonight during their interviews. Peeta was grateful for the mindless chatter; he threw in the appropriate head nods and responses when necessary, but his mind was elsewhere. It felt like a ball of lead had settled in the pit of his stomach ever since his meeting with Haymitch. He couldn't think about anything other than the fact that in about 24 hours, he would be in the arena, fighting for his life. His survival guaranteed the death of not only his district partner but 22 other innocent people. He had no illusion that those 22 other kids would not willingly accept his own death if it meant they could live—some of them would gladly jump at the chance to be the ones to kill him, even—but they were all just playing the parts the Capitol gave them. They were all just children, forced into these roles for—for what? The Capitol's amusement? The Capitol's prosperity? _No, not just that,_ he thought. These games were a way to keep the other districts on their knees, complicit in their own enslavement. Pit each district against the others so its people couldn't focus on the real oppressor.

Peeta was still waging an internal war with himself when it came time for Portia and her assistants to prepare him for the interview. He didn't talk much, something Portia picked up on quickly. "Don't be so nervous, Peeta. You're a natural; they're going to love you out there," she said reassuringly, helping him into his black tailored suit jacket and brushing a lint roller down his sleeves.

He smiled absently at her and nodded. He wasn't nervous, though. Not about the crowd, at least. He felt confident he could handle the interview with ease. It was a game, after all, and after 16 years of required viewings, he had come to recognize the different kinds of moves a player had to make to win this game. Except...they never really won. The Capitol still owned them all. He just wished he could think of a way to show them that they didn't own him. That he was more than just a piece in their games.

When he lined up with the other tributes, he saw Coralie for the first time since that morning. Cinna had dressed her in a sleek gown lined with thousands of gems. She glowed like embers. "You look lovely," he told her with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said softly, returning the smile. But the fear that had settled in her eyes since he first shook her hand on the District 12 stage was still there. He hoped Haymitch had at least given her some solid advice and encouragement for her interview. When he thought about Haymitch's strategy for him, he dropped his gaze, overcome with guilt.

As they progressed through the interviews, Peeta felt like he was in a haze. It was around District 9 when he was able to force himself to pay attention to the tributes' banter with Caesar. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the little girl from District 11 float onto the stage beside the host, dressed in a light, gauzy dress. Rue. Picked at her first reaping. What were the odds? Holding his breath for the first part of Coralie's interview, Peeta was able to breathe again once Caesar got her to finally smile as she talked about being the youngest sibling to four overprotective brothers. They discussed her tribute parade costume with the fire, and she even spun around to demonstrate her dress, the sparkling of the gems creating the illusion of flickering flames. But when she giggled airily, nearly tripping back into her seat, Peeta caught the smug smiles on the Careers' faces, and he cringed inwardly.

Then it was his turn. Despite his apprehension, it was easy for Peeta to turn on his public persona, the one that helped him get through so many uncomfortable situations in his life and, he hoped, would get him through the next few minutes. He smiled at the crowd, at Caesar, and when Caesar went to shake his hand, Peeta bent down dramatically to kiss his hand, as Caesar had done with all the female tributes. The crowd roared, and Caesar made a show of being shocked, waving Peeta to his chair and laughing with the audience. Grinning widely, Peeta took his seat as Caesar settled in beside him.

"Welcome, Peeta. I'd tell you to make yourself comfortable, but you seem plenty comfortable already," Caesar quipped, and the audience tittered.

"Did I come on too strong?" Peeta asked with mock horror, then he cracked a smile. "Sorry, I just wanted to pay my respects to the real star of this show."

Caesar playfully tapped his arm. "Oh, hardly. I bet at least half the viewers aren't even looking at me anymore with you sitting next to me," he said, and Peeta shrugged modestly. "You're our last guest of the night, so you must be pretty antsy by now, having to sit through 23 other interviews."

"Actually, I'm pretty glad about that. I thought I was going to be late," Peeta said, then he leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "Don't tell anyone this, but I kind of got lost in the shower." Caesar laughed, the audience following suit. "I'm serious. My stylist had to save me. I'm gonna have to draw myself a map for the next time I go in there."

"I imagine the showers here are a little different than what you have in District 12," Caesar offered helpfully, his blue lips stretched widely in a painful smile.

"You're telling me. It's like a labyrinth in there. So many attachments and nozzles and buttons. I didn't know what I was pushing most of the time. Tell me—do I smell like roses?" Peeta inquired, and Caesar leaned forward to sniff him, eliciting more laughter from the crowd.

"You do! What about me?" he asked, and Peeta sniffed Caesar's arm comically.

"Actually, you smell like an almond croissant," he said, making a face.

Caesar guffawed. "That's right! You're the son of a baker. Are our pastries up to your standards?"

"And then some. You know, being here, I've realized how similar the tributes are to the breads from their districts." Caesar motioned for him to explain. "Well, our bread at home, the drop biscuits we make, are a little rough around the edges—and pretty dense," Peeta explained, pausing for the laughter at his self-deprecating joke. "The rolls in District 2 are rather big, and they're tough—I don't think I need to explain the similarities there. And District 1...well, clearly, that's where the sexy bread comes from."

The audience howled with laughter, and Glimmer, who sensed the joke was about her, beamed, jutting her breasts out in her sheer gown.

Chuckling, Caesar shook his head. "You must be a hit with the ladies back in District 12. Tell me, Peeta, do you have a girlfriend?" And there it was. Peeta hesitated, licking his lips, then gave an unconvincing shake of his head. "Oh, come on. We all saw that girl when you were chosen at the reaping. You mean to tell me you two aren't an item?"

Peeta blushed, but he couldn't keep the pain from flashing across his face. "No, we're not. But..." He paused, searching for the right words to explain it. "I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. I didn't even know she knew I existed until that day."

A sympathetic murmur rose from the crowd, and he could feel the intensity of their stares on him. Even Caesar had leaned forward, concern etched across his face. "Well, it certainly seemed like she knew who you were. Does she have another fellow?"

"I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised if she did."

"Well, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, right?" Caesar said encouragingly.

Peeta wanted to laugh. As if Katniss was only concerned about riches and glory. As if she would be attracted to someone who had murdered other people. He shook his head sorrowfully, eyes trained on his shoes. "I don't think that's going to work."

"Why ever not?"

Lifting his gaze back to the crowd, Peeta swallowed thickly, and his heart hammered in his chest. Haymitch was not going to be happy with what he was about to do. "Because...me winning means I will have actively participated in the killing of 23 other kids. Who could want someone like that?"

Quiet gasps filled the deadly silent auditorium. Even Caesar was at a loss for words, gawking at Peeta. Luckily, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of his interview. Caesar seemed to stutter before he got a grasp on his parting statement. "Uh, thank you, Peeta. Best of luck to you tomorrow."

Peeta nodded his thanks, standing up to take his leave. Baffled murmuring rippled through the crowd, and slowly audience members began to clap, the sound steadily growing louder. He heard a few shouts from the audience, but he wasn't sure if they were expressions of anger or sadness or confusion. The tributes shuffled into the elevators to take them back to their suites, and he found himself in an elevator with Coralie and the tributes from 5, 7 and 10. They were all sneaking him funny glances, but no one spoke. He pretended not to notice and watched the lighted numbers flicker as their elevator rapidly ascended. Gradually, the tributes emptied the lift at their designated floors till it was just him and Coralie. They stayed silent until the doors opened to deposit them in their suite, and they filed out of the elevator. It wasn't long before a second elevator pinged open, Haymitch and Effie bursting through the sliding doors with Cinna and Portia behind them. Reflexively, Peeta braced himself, anticipating an attack.

"Are you fucking insane?! Do you have a death wish? Because you just painted a huge fucking target on your back!" Haymitch screamed, suddenly in his face. Peeta stepped back, but Effie grabbed Haymitch's arm to pull him back.

"Haymitch, please!" she pleaded, but then she looked at Peeta, her eyes watery. "Peeta...what did you do?"

His mouth felt dry, but he squared his shoulders. "I was just being honest."

"And do you think the people here give a damn about honesty?" Haymitch hissed. "We all know you kids aren't here out of some kind of choice, but those people have to do all sorts of mental gymnastics to avoid acknowledging that fact and feeling guilty about eagerly watching children kill each other!" Effie gasped, her face paling, but Haymitch ignored her. "So I don't really think they or the president care to hear about your _honesty_."

No one spoke for a tense moment until Effie squeaked, covering her mouth with her hand to quiet her sobs, and ran off into another room. Her exit seemed to snap Haymitch out of his rage, and he sighed loudly, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Shit," he exclaimed. "Now I guess _I_ was a little too honest." Despite himself, Peeta cracked a smile, but Haymitch glowered at him. "Cram it, kid. I don't want to hear another word from you."

That was fine. Peeta knew he would never be able to explain to Haymitch why he did what he did.

"Go to bed, both of you," Haymitch ordered, pointing at him and Coralie. "I'm sick of looking at you. I've got to do some damage control and try to round up sponsors."

Coralie was eager to leave the room; Peeta didn't blame her. But Peeta lingered, looking in the direction Effie had run off to. He glanced back at his mentor. "Please tell Effie that I'm sorry for upsetting her," he said softly before turning to head to his own room. Portia squeezed his arm as he passed, giving him a comforting smile.

He didn't sleep at all that night.

The next morning, he found conversing with Portia as she prepared him for the arena nearly impossible. On the hovercraft ride, they ate in silence. Peeta forced himself to eat from the breakfast buffet set up. But halfway through, he threw it up into the ice bucket. When he finished heaving, Portia handed him a napkin. Smiling in gratitude, Peeta wiped the vomit from his mouth as an Avox carried the ice bucket away. Peeta cautiously sipped some water and settled for eating small bites of toast the rest of the ride.

Arriving at his Launch Room underneath the arena, Portia helped dress him in a simple black shirt, green utility pants and boots. She slipped a black jacket made from thin, shiny material on his arms and zipped it up. Turning to dig something out of a bag, Portia faced him again and held up a gold pin. The one Madge had given him at the Justice Building.

"Your token," Portia said, pinning it to his jacket. "You get to take one thing from home into the arena with you. I thought you might want it."

He nodded, looking down at it. "Thanks. I forgot about it."

"It's an interesting choice for a pin, a mockingjay," Portia said mysteriously. Peeta furrowed his eyebrows. He had no idea what it was until then; Madge hadn't explained it, and he didn't spend much time analyzing it that first day.

"I guess so..." he trailed off, suddenly consumed with thoughts about the arena.

Portia watched him thoughtfully, then guided him to a chair. "You're trembling. Let's sit and get you some water." He took a glass of water from her and took small sips from it. "Peeta..." she started, grasping his free hand. "I just wanted to tell you that it has been a privilege working with you this past week. You're a brave person, and you're genuine." She pursed her lips. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...don't lose yourself out there. And...I believe in you."

Peeta smiled tremulously at her, squeezing her hand in his. "Thank you, Portia. Thank you for everything."

She returned the smile. Before she could say anything more, a voice announced over a speaker that it was time for launch. Standing, Portia led Peeta to the circular metal plate that would lift him into the arena above him. When the cylinder enclosed around him, he glanced one last time at Portia; she nodded confidently at him. Then it was time, and Peeta tilted his head upward as the plate ascended, plunging him into complete darkness.


	4. A love back home, it unfolds

**IV. A love back home, it unfolds**

Katniss sat at the kitchen table in the house she shared with Prim and their mother, removing the husks from a pile of black walnuts she had gathered a couple weeks ago while in the woods. She tossed the husks into the trash can, along with any maggot-infested walnuts she found, and dropped the shelled walnuts into a bowl. Her mother sat on their small couch in the living room, stitching up a worn seam in one of Prim's blouses. Prim lay prostrate on the floor with her chin propped on her hand, her eyes glued to the small television that sat in a corner. She was watching the tribute interviews, mesmerized by the glamorous outfits and Caesar Flickerman's electric blue hair. Katniss' own eyes drifted to the screen occasionally as she cracked walnut husks, but it wasn't until a little girl from District 11 appeared that she stilled her hands.

Her mother stopped her work too, eyes transfixed on the screen. "She's so young," she murmured in disapproval. Katniss clenched her jaw as Caesar patted the girl's hand—Rue, her name was Rue.

Prim turned her head to her mother. "But she got a 7 in training! That's pretty good. She could do really well," she exclaimed optimistically.

Rue's interview was over, and Katniss forced her hands to keep husking, trying not to think about Prim, the same age as Rue, up on that stage in the same position as the unlucky District 11 tribute. It made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

When it was time for the District 12 interviews, Prim sat up on her knees and crawled toward the TV to turn up the volume. "It's their turn now!" she called over her shoulder. "Look, Katniss, it's your friend, Coralie."

Katniss looked up, guilt creasing the corner of her eyes. "I'm watching," she said quietly, dropping a shelled walnut into the bowl and grabbing a washcloth to wipe the black stains off her fingers. But she stayed in her chair at the table.

"Her dress is really pretty," Prim said in awe, and Katniss and their mother agreed. It was reminiscent of the parade costumes in how it created the illusion of fire. Katniss thought back to the parade a few nights ago; the District 12 tributes had stolen the show, thanks to their new stylists. Peeta and Coralie had looked radiant, alight with fire. But after the release of the training scores, they had been overshadowed by talk of other higher-scoring tributes, particularly Districts 1, 2 and 4. _The Careers_, she thought disdainfully. Katniss hoped Peeta and Coralie performed better during their interviews.

Prim gasped as Coralie spun in a circle, showing off her dress, and even Katniss smiled at the sight. But she immediately tensed when Peeta's name was called, and she twisted the washcloth in her lap. She shouldn't have been surprised at how relaxed he appeared—he was always so sociable at school—but she was kind of flabbergasted by how carefree he was in his interactions with Caesar. Prim giggled when Peeta kissed the host's hand, and Katniss couldn't help the small, confused smile that spread across her own face.

Her confidence grew as their banter continued, drawing a lot of laughter from the audience in the Capitol. Prim and even Mrs. Everdeen laughed. Peeta was doing pretty well with the crowd, and Katniss felt a stirring of hope that maybe, maybe he could pull this off after all.

"You must be a hit with the ladies back in District 12," Caesar asked, practically leering at the blond-haired tribute beside him. "Tell me, Peeta, do you have a girlfriend?" Interest piqued, Katniss found herself leaning forward slightly. But Peeta shook his head. "Oh, come on. We all saw that girl when you were chosen at the reaping. You mean to tell me you two aren't an item?"

Her heart skipped a beat, a blush blossoming on her cheeks, and Prim practically leapt to her feet. "They're talking about you, Katniss!"

"No, we're not," Peeta told Caesar, and Katniss could see a similar blush on his own face. "But...I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. I didn't even know she knew I existed until that day."

_Oh, no._ This time, her heart stopped, all the color draining from her face. Both Prim and their mother gasped, looking to her. Prim's mouth formed a perfect "O" as she stared wide-eyed at her sister, and Katniss glanced helplessly between them and the TV. She felt similar to how she did at the reaping. She missed whatever Peeta said next, and she had to shake herself out of her daze.

"...You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, right?"

"I don't think that's going to work."

"Why ever not?"

"Because...me winning means I will have actively participated in the killing of 23 other kids. Who could want someone like that?"

Katniss' mouth dropped open, and Mrs. Everdeen dropped the shirt and needle in her hands, covering her mouth as she inhaled sharply. Prim seemed confused by their reactions, but no one moved until Peeta walked off the stage and Caesar wrapped up the segment. Finally, both pairs of eyes turned to Katniss.

"Katniss..." Prim started, a questioning lilt in her voice as she noticed her sister's pallor. That seemed to snap Katniss out of her stupor, and she shot up, hitting the table with her thighs and nearly knocking over the bowl of walnuts. She fumbled with the bowl as it clattered against the wood.

"I, uh, I need to soak these." She turned to the sink and dropped the bowl there, turning the faucet on to fill the bowl. She twisted the knob to shut off the water, and she spun around to grab the trashcan. "I'm going to dump these shells outside." She didn't know why she was narrating her every move, but she was desperate to fill the awkward silence.

Scooping up the trash can, she strode to the front door without a second glance at her sister and mother. She stepped out onto the front porch, and the front door slammed shut behind her. Katniss gasped, filling her lungs with the muggy night air. She immediately begin to sweat, but she wasn't sure if it was from the summer heat or from her mounting hysteria. She slung the trash can over the side of the porch, emptying the walnut shells onto the lawn, then she let it slip from her hands. As it bounced on the ground, she collapsed in a heap on the steps, wrapping her arms around her knees to draw them to her chest tightly. Peeta's words rang in her head, and she was torn between horror and utter bewilderment.

He _liked_ her? But he had barely ever spoken to her! Her mind wondered back to the many fleeting looks he gave her over the years, when she would meet his gaze only briefly before he would look away. And she thought about the desperation in his voice, the earnestness in his blue eyes when she last saw him at the Justice Building, when he tried to tell her—tell her what? She had stopped him before he could, inexplicably terrified of what he had come dangerously close to saying. Had she known then? She must have; there had been a look in his eyes that she couldn't put a name to, so she had cut him off and shut down the mere thought that he, the boy with the bread, could feel something for her beyond pity and a passing recognition of the secret they shared. She hadn't let herself think about that moment in the Justice Building again until tonight, when he proclaimed his adoration of her to the entire country.

She should be mad. She felt like she should be mad, and she knew the anger would probably come later, but right now, a creeping fear had settled in its place, had taken root the moment he uttered his last words. Why had he done that? She knew it wasn't an uncommon sentiment in District 12, though, aside from herself and Gale, she had never heard anyone dare say it out loud, at least not to her. Terror was often present in a tribute's eyes, almost palpable, during interviews, but no one ever acknowledged it; the Capitol expected only consent, if not outright ecstasy, from tributes when discussing their plans to kill other tributes and win the Hunger Games. As he lived the relatively easy life of a baker's son, Peeta never struck her as someone who harbored resentment, even rebellious philosophies, regarding the Capitol. It shouldn't have surprised her though, she thought; wasn't he the only person in this town who helped her when she was on the brink of death?

He was a good person, she realized, almost with a jolt, as if the idea of a decent human being in this country was borderline ridiculous. He was a good person, and she knew the Capitol would make him pay for it.

The front door creaked open, and a tentative voice spoke up behind her. "Katniss?"

Clearing her throat, Katniss stretched her legs out in front of her and forced a smile as Prim sat beside her on the stoop. The younger girl looped her arms around her sister's torso, and Katniss wrapped her arm around her shoulder. "You're not really friends with Coralie, are you?" Prim asked quietly, and Katniss almost smiled.

"No. She's been in some of my classes, but...I've never talked to her."

"I kind of thought so," Prim replied, nodding to herself. "And Peeta?"

Katniss wasn't entirely sure what her sister was asking. "We...we're not friends either."

"But he likes you?"

Katniss fidgeted uncomfortably. "I don't know. I guess so. But...maybe he just said it because he thought that's what the audience wanted to hear."

Prim pulled back to look at her face doubtfully. "Why did you say goodbye to him at the reaping? If you're not friends?"

Sighing, Katniss played with the end of one of Prim's braids and tried to stall. "It's...complicated. I don't know if I can explain it..."

"I'm a good listener," Prim interjected firmly. Chewing her lip, Katniss eyed her sister warily but finally relented, divulging the story about the bread. This was the first time she had ever said it out loud to someone else. She felt ashamed, recalling how ready she was to give up that moment in the rain, how she almost failed Prim.

When Katniss finished retelling her story, Prim's eyes were shining, and she hugged Katniss tightly. "I always wondered how you got that bread...So he saved our lives?" Katniss nodded, pressing her cheek to the top of Prim's head. "He's always been so nice to me in town. I wish I had known, so I could have thanked him before..." she trailed off, unwilling to finish that thought.

"I didn't even thank him until the reaping," she replied, the regret heavy in her voice.

Neither of them spoke for a minute. "I like him," Prim said finally, but Katniss could feel her sister's warm tears on her arm. "I like Coralie, too. But...oh, Katniss, I feel so terrible. Is it okay to hope he's the one that comes home?"

_No, it isn't okay_, Katniss thought, rocking her sister back and forth. None of it was okay. But she hoped with everything in her that he was the one to come home, too.

* * *

A week and a day after the reaping, Katniss found herself filing into the town square again with hundreds of other bodies, this time for the official start of the games. It was mandatory viewing, and though she could watch it at her house with her sister and their mother, for some reason, she felt more comfortable surrounded by people she didn't know. There was a comfort in the anonymity of her viewing the start of the games, where she wouldn't have the inquisitive stares of Prim and her mother on her as she watched and dreaded Peeta's every movement. If something happened to Peeta...she wanted to deal with it alone, lost in the crowd of people who wouldn't know or wonder about her feelings regarding him.

It was still early, the crowd relatively small. Katniss had tossed and turned a lot last night, and Prim had tried to comfort her for a while before Katniss, sensing her sister's exhaustion, told her to go sleep in their mother's bed so she wouldn't keep her up any longer. When morning came, Katniss got dressed, ate a small breakfast, and left a note for the two of them to let them know where she was going. She figured Prim would want to stay at home and watch the games with their mother regardless.

Leaning against a light post, Katniss stared at the large screen that stood in the square, blank aside from static footage of the Panem seal. She found herself chewing on her thumbnail and glanced at the clock. Half an hour till show time. The thought made her stomach twist.

"Hey."

Katniss jumped, twisting her neck to locate the sound in her left ear. Gale. Nervous was not normally a feeling she had when she saw Gale, but for some reason she didn't understand, she knew, after Peeta's interview last night, he was not going to be happy with her. Probably because she lied to him. "Hey," she said, hoping she came across more nonchalant than she felt.

"You're out early." His tone was accusatory. Yep, he was mad.

"So are you," she shot back, her defenses going up.

He glared at her, seeming to size her up, and she shifted uncomfortably. "So, Mellark's interview was pretty interesting last night."

"I guess you could say that," she muttered, glancing back at the clock.

The intensity of his stare was unnerving her. "Why did you lie to me about knowing him?" he demanded finally. There it was.

"I don't know. Probably because I know how much you hate people from town," she said sourly, fidgeting with her braid.

He made a strained sound. "I don't hate—don't turn this around on me. You lied about knowing Mellark. Do you two have a thing or something?"

"No!" she yelled a little too loudly. A few people around them gave her funny looks, and she flushed in embarrassment. "No, we don't have a _thing_. When would I have time to have a thing with anybody? You would know if I did. And I don't even want a thing with anybody!"

He narrowed his eyes. "But he announced in front of the whole country that he has a thing for you. And you lie about knowing him after the reaping. And then you went to see him at the Justice Building," he accused, stepping in front of her so she was forced to look at him. "I want to know what the hell is going on, Katniss!"

She huffed, standing up straight. "There's nothing going on!" she hissed, her eyes darting around her nervously. "I just—I didn't know about any crush he had on me, if it's even true. We've never even talked before! Before the reaping, I mean, I guess. I just...I know of him. He just..." she trailed off, floundering for an explanation. She wanted to scream out of frustration; the story about the bread was one of the most personal moments in her life, and her feelings about it were so confusing, even to her, so tightly knotted around that incident, she didn't even know how to begin to untangle them, and she was sick of having to think about it and try to explain it to everyone already.

Gale raised his eyebrows expectantly, his jaw still set in an angry line. He wasn't going to relent. Katniss sighed. "Listen, it's hard to—it's hard for me to talk about it because...he helped feed me, and Prim, one time, years ago, before I started hunting, when things were really tough at home. And I hate talking about it because I'm embarrassed, and that is literally the only interaction I had with him before the reaping," she finished rapidly, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly. She hoped that would be enough to appease Gale, that he would understand the burden of owing someone.

His eyebrows furrowed in thought as he mulled over her story. "Huh," he grunted, crossing his own arms. "Charity from a townie. I guess that was nice of him...if not a little patronizing." Katniss felt a flush of anger heat up her neck, but she decided to just ignore his jab, especially if it meant he would drop his line of questioning. Gale sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Well, I guess I can't say I'm surprised he has the hots for you," he mused, falling back beside her to look up at the screen. "Now that I think about it, he used to watch you a lot. After school. In town."

This was something she was aware of, especially now in retrospect, but she decided not to acknowledge his observation, lifting her shoulder in a small shrug. "Whatever," she grumbled. She looked at the clock again and immediately felt her stomach drop. Only a few minutes now. "What are you even doing out here? I thought you said you weren't going to watch the games this year."

He shot her a sideways glance. "Aside from wanting some questions answered, I'm a little intrigued. Mellark had some guts saying what he did about the Capitol," he answered, keeping his voice low so no passing Peacekeeper could happen to overhear him. "I imagine they're pretty pissed at him. Never would've thought the baker boy had it in him. I'm interested to see how this plays out."

She narrowed her eyes. "It's not really helpful if you're pulling for the Gamemakers to punish him or something."

Gale pulled back to look at her, the look on his face indignant. "That's not what I said—I thought you knew me better than that, Katniss." His tone was wounded, and she dropped her eyes, feeling guilty.

"Sorry, I think I'm just tired," she mumbled, kicking the gravel with her boot.

Gale shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure how Mellark will do. District 12 hasn't had a winner in 24 years, but anything's possible, I guess," he said, staring at the flickering Panem seal on the screen. "He doesn't seem like an idiot, though. I want to see what else he's got up his sleeve."

Katniss just hoped it was something good.

* * *

_Thank you so much for all the reviews so far!_


	5. Cause you and I, we were born to die

**V. 'Cause you and I, we were born to die**

Although he had been immersed in complete darkness for only seconds, the daylight was blinding, and Peeta squinted, blinking away the sting of tears. His surroundings quickly became apparent as his platform locked in place, and he scanned the arena quickly, noting the golden cornucopia meters before him, the tributes in a circle around it. There was a lake to his left, a field or some kind of drop off ahead of him, and lush green woods behind him.

He registered all of this in the moment before the voice of announcer Claudius Templesmith boomed around them. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

They had 60 seconds before they were allowed to step off their metal plates, and as the clock ticked down, he surveyed the tributes that circled the cornucopia. He found Coralie to his right a few tributes over, which was good; she was close to the woods, so she could easily make it there before another tribute had time to get a weapon and turn it on her. His eyes glazed over the other tributes until he located the Careers. District 2 and 4 were divided between the left and right sides of the circle, and Clove from District 2 was five tributes to his left. Finally, he spotted Cato, directly across from him, almost obscured by the mouth of the cornucopia, which faced Peeta.

Peeta began formulating his plan quickly; he could skirt around the circle and come up behind Cato, who would surely seek out a weapon and immediately attack any unlucky tribute who attempted to run to the cornucopia or tried to snatch up any of the items scattered throughout the grass. His course of action decided, Peeta set his feet to run, anticipating the signaling of the gong. He felt like he did before a wrestling match—eerily calm. He could feel his heart rate slowing down, and everything but Cato faded to the background. The hulking District 2 tribute had a few pounds and inches on him, but brute strength didn't always guarantee victory. He could do this. He had no choice but to do this. Failure meant his death; the thought should have scared him, but it only hardened his resolve.

The gong rang out suddenly, and Peeta shot off his plate, landing to the side of it as his feet dug in to the dirt and launched his body into a sprint. He had to dodge a couple tributes who were running for cover, but most of them were heading toward the cornucopia to grab what supplies they could. His feet pounded the ground as he circled around to Cato's plate; he kept his eyes on him, careful not to trip. As expected, the District 2 tribute was running toward the mouth of the cornucopia, shoving a District 7 tribute out of his way when they nearly collided.

Peeta reached the other side of the large horn, digging his heels in to stop himself. He quickly glanced around him to check that no one was near him, and when he was sure they were otherwise preoccupied, he darted toward the cornucopia. As he predicted, the others had converged on the mouth of the cornucopia to seize weapons and other supplies. Sliding along the back of the horn, he could hear screams and grunts of pain as well as the sick, bodily thuds of weapons hitting flesh and cracking bones. He forced the sounds to his peripheral and slunk to the mouth of the cornucopia, peering around it carefully. The Careers were staked around the entrance, some already sorting through the supplies while the others easily overpowered other tributes not fast enough to escape the melee. A few bodies already littered the ground around the cornucopia.

Cato's back was to Peeta, and he was only a few yards from him, stalking a District 5 tribute. The boy from 5 collapsed to the ground as Cato pounced on him, sheathing a sword through his guts. Cato barely had his sword out of the kid's belly when Peeta barreled into him from behind, slamming both of them to the ground. Cato cried out in surprise, but he still had a grip on his sword, and he was already scrambling to get his feet under him. Peeta bore his weight down on Cato's back, digging a knee into his shoulder blades. He brought his foot down hard on Cato's wrist, crunching his hand into the ground and forcing his fingers to release their grip on the hilt of the sword. Cato slammed his other elbow into Peeta's side, and Peeta grunted at the sharp pain. With his hands under him, Cato now had the leverage to push himself to his knees. Sensing this, Peeta kicked the sword out of reach and encircled his arms around Cato's neck, using his upward movements to propel both of them backward. As they fell backwards, knife whizzed past Peeta's head, catching the left side of his face and slicing a red gash across his cheek. Blood blossomed instantly from the cut. Clove. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Peeta landed on his backside, angling Cato in front of him between his legs to block any more knives. Peeta tightened his right arm around Cato's neck, using his left hand to force Cato's head into the juncture of his right elbow and pushing his forearm against his throat in a choke hold.

Cato's arms were flailing, his hands scratching at Peeta's arms and grabbing at his hair, but his strength was weakening as he began losing consciousness. Peeta looked up, his eyes finding Clove, who stood a few feet from them, poised to throw another knife the moment she got a good shot. She seemed to be debating whether to throw her knife or just charge both of them. He saw that the District 2 tributes were also watching him from their spots at the entrance of the cornucopia, but the District 4 tributes were fighting with the kids from District 6.

"My arm is currently blocking your airway," he explained to Cato calmly but loud enough that Clove could hear him. He knew he had only a few minutes to convince them of an alliance. "I'm also pressing on your carotid arteries, limiting the blood flow to your head. I bet you're seeing black spots in your vision right now. If I push any tighter, you'll black out in seconds. Longer than that, you could suffer brain damage. Even death." He raised his voice to make sure the others could hear him. "But I'm not going to kill him. I just want to join your alliance."

Lowering her knife, Clove scoffed. "You want to join the Careers? And why would we let you do that?" Although her weapon was no longer aimed at him, he could still see how rigid her body was, ready to attack.

Peeta smiled, wincing as the movement stretched the gash on his cheek. Blood was running down his face, and he could taste it on his tongue as he spoke. "I just took out your partner, the tribute favored to win these games. Aren't you a little bit curious what I can do?" Behind Clove, Glimmer and her District partner, Marvel, inched closer, intrigued by their conversation. "Besides, the audience loves me. This could be fun. A District 12 tribute joining the Careers? That never happens. We're guaranteed to get more screen time. And more sponsors."

He held his breath as he watched the internal debate flash across their faces; the idea of more sponsors and screen time was enticing. Cato's body was slumping further against his chest, his arms lying limp by his sides. Finally, Glimmer smirked and stepped next to Clove. "I like him," she said in amusement, crossing her arms over her chest. "I say yes."

"Fine," Clove snarled. "You can join our alliance. Let him go."

His hold immediately loosened around Cato's neck, and he pushed him forward, quickly standing up. Cato collapsed on his hands and knees, coughing violently as he gasped for air. Peeta knew the District 2 tribute was in no position to fight at the moment, but he picked up the sword so Cato couldn't grab for it first. Allies or not, he knew he had just made an enemy in Cato. Clove leaned down to help him up, keeping a wary eye on Peeta and the sword in his hand. Peeta kept it pointed down to show he meant no harm. Cato staggered to his feet, leaning against Clove.

"You know we'll kill you in the end," Clove warned him. "What are you getting out of this alliance?"

Peeta shrugged. More than likely they would end up killing him; he had no illusions about that. He had only a floundering hope that he could survive. Mostly, he just wanted to leave some kind of mark on the games, do something that mattered. And, although they were probably appalled by him now, he hoped in the end he managed to make his district proud, his family and friends. "You're probably right. I'd just like to have a full stomach when you do," he said, smiling harmlessly at her. Gingerly grabbing the blade of the sword, he held the hilt of it out to Cato as a peace offering, as a sign of trust.

Cato was still struggling to breath, and the look on his face was murderous as he snatched the sword from Peeta. But he didn't attack. "When we do, you're mine," he rasped dangerously, locking eyes with him. Peeta just nodded, trying to keep his expression impassable.

Glimmer slid around the District 2 tributes and sidled up to Peeta. "Clove got you good," she said with a predatory grin, indicating the cut on his face. He swiped his sleeve over his cheek, grimacing. It stung, and while not deep, it bled a lot. He spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth but tried to shrug indifferently.

"At least she didn't take my head off." _Yet_, he added mentally.

Glimmer's smile widened. "We've got first-aid supplies in the cornucopia, come on." She led him to the pile of supplies where Marvel was picking through the bounty, examining the weapons. He gave Peeta a cautionary look, grunting in a displeased greeting. Peeta glanced behind him just to make sure Cato and Clove weren't planning to gut him from behind; they were talking quietly to each other, throwing looks his way, but they didn't appear to be planning any kind of attack at the moment, at least. Glimmer snatched up a first-aid kit and tossed it to him, eyeing him critically. "So what kind of weapon do you want? The bow is mine."

Marvel interjected, "Really? You want to give him a weapon?"

Glimmer pouted at her district partner, her hands resting on her hips. "It's not like the rest of us can carry them all. Isn't it better that those in our alliance use up all the weapons we can so we don't leave them around for anyone else to get their hands on?"

"No one's going to get near our supplies," Marvel said. Peeta dug through the kit for something to stanch the blood flowing from his cheek. He grabbed a wad of gauze and pressed it to his cheek, hissing quietly in pain.

"I'll take a knife if you can spare one," Peeta suggested, hoping to appeal to whatever in Glimmer made her want to side with him. She sifted through a pile of spears, axes and daggers, pulling out a knife and handing it to him.

"You sure you know how to use that, lover boy?" Clove sneered from behind him, and he craned his neck around to look at her. She was spinning one of her own knives around her fingers confidently, clearly trying to intimidate him. He wasn't clear about her choice of nickname for him, but he assumed it had something to do with his confession about Katniss in his interview. The thought of her made his heart ache, and he wondered what she thought about him joining the Careers. Nothing good, he was certain.

"Sure," he said breezily, pushing the thought of Katniss aside. "Get me a bread roll and some butter, and I'll show you."

Glimmer laughed loudly beside him, and Clove rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Speaking of food," Cato interrupted, still shooting daggers at Peeta. "We need to take inventory of our stock before we set up camp." He and Clove shoved past Peeta, making sure to bump his shoulder as they ventured into the cornucopia.

"I like you," Glimmer said teasingly, and Peeta was glad he had at least one fan among the group. Her agreeableness toward him might be the only thing keeping the other Careers at bay for the time being.

"You like anything with a dick," Marvel said gruffly.

"Must be why I don't like you," she snapped, and Peeta shifted awkwardly, wondering if he was in the middle of a lovers' spat or something. Glimmer turned to Peeta, one hip cocked to the side. "He's just mad because I refused to suck his dick," she told him smugly.

"Thought you just said I didn't have one," Marvel muttered, selecting a spear from the pile of weapons. He stood up and braced his weight against it.

"Not one that I could find," she retorted, and the two of them glared at each other. This was bizarre, Peeta thought. The Careers were so confident about their probability of winning, they had no qualms arguing openly with their own district partners. He couldn't imagine fighting with Coralie like this; aside from her milquetoast demeanor, the citizens of 12 would be so appalled by their lack of district unity, any sort of sponsorship or monetary support would go out the window. Apparently, that wasn't something the upper districts needed to worry about.

Finally, Marvel broke the standoff with a chuckle, and Glimmer rolled her eyes at him. Shaking his head, Peeta tried to wipe the rest of the blood off his face and his neck with the gauze, though he felt like he was only succeeding in smearing it around. He fished out a tube of ointment from the kit and squeezed some on his finger, swiping it over the open wound.

"I got 3."

Peeta turned his head in the direction of the new voice. The District 4 girl, Cass, approached their group, pushing the boy from District 3 ahead of her, her hand fisted in the thin material of his jacket. That was interesting; Peeta wondered why she hadn't killed him yet. Cato lumbered out of the cornucopia to greet her.

"Where's Jib?" he asked. Cass' face soured.

"Dead. District 6 practically disemboweled him with a spear, but he was still alive. I slit his throat to put him out of his misery. But we took out both from 6," she explained. The ease with which she spoke about her own partner's death was disquieting. Cass shoved the boy from 3 toward Cato. "I found Axel hiding behind the cornucopia."

What would the Careers want with a small, unassuming boy from District 3?

Cato sized the boy up, and Peeta could see the fear on Axel's face. "Still think you can deliver what you promised?" Cato demanded, and Axel nodded eagerly.

"Oh, yes. They will have been deactivated by now. I could start digging them up now," he squeaked.

Cato handed him a knife, then grabbed the boy's shoulder to turn him around and push him away from the group. "Get started then."

Confused, Peeta watched as Axel scurried away from the horn. He looked like he was running for the woods, but then he stopped a few meters out and dropped to the ground. Wedging the knife into the earth, he began scooping dirt and grass out of the way. What was he doing? Peeta glanced around him, scanning the grassy area that surrounded the cornucopia; understanding dawned on him as he realized Axel's location was about how far out the metal plates were. He must have been digging up the deactivated mines that kept each tribute on their platforms until the gong sounded. But why?

Just then, a cannon fired, causing Peeta to jump slightly. Then another. All the Careers stopped to listen, too. Peeta counted the number of cannon shots, adding them up mentally; there was 11 total. So 11 tributes had been killed in the bloodbath this morning.

"That's 11," Clove echoed Peeta's thoughts, but her expression was one of glee. "Eleven down; twelve more to go!" The others cheered, high fiving each other. His throat closed up unexpectedly, and Peeta swallowed thickly, surveying the dead bodies that littered the ground around the cornucopia. Was Coralie among them? He hadn't kept track of her the moment he stepped off his plate. Hopefully, she had taken Haymitch's advice to heart and headed for the woods immediately.

"We should gather up the supplies and move them to the lake; I think that would be the best area to set up camp," Cato said; his tone left no room for discussion. "Then they can bring in the hovercrafts and dispose of these dead bodies before they start to stink." Glimmer sniffed disdainfully, and the rest of them began gathering the supplies to move. Peeta hung back for a moment, the full weight of the moment settling on his shoulders. Allying with the Careers might have been a smart move—the only move, really, if he wanted to survive—but he wondered if it was a _sane _move. How long before their callousness and ferocity began to rub off on him? It wasn't avoidable, he feared. If he managed to live, there was no way his own hands would be clean.

Taking a shuddering breath, Peeta applied a bandage to his cheek over his cut, then followed after the others to help.


	6. Bury me in armor

_**Author's note:** Thanks to the reviewers who pointed out that Cato's from District 2 (not 1 as I kept referring to him as). Eep! I knew I was going to make that mistake, and I still didn't catch the mistake. I reuploaded the chapter with the fix just because I can't stand errors like that. Please let me know if you see me make similar mistakes in future chapters. I appreciate it!_

* * *

**VI. Bury me in armor when I'm dead and hit the ground**

The Careers had relocated everything next to the lake. They set up tents and stockpiled the food off to the side some. Peeta had soon learned exactly what Axel had wanted with the deactivated mines—and just why he was so valuable to the Careers. In an unprecedented move, he had figured out how to reactive the mines and strategically buried them around the pile of supplies. There were fresh patches of soil to indicate where Axel had buried the bombs, so he and the Careers knew where to avoid stepping when getting food. But if any unlucky tributes attempted to steal from their stash while the Careers were off hunting, they would be obliterated. Peeta was in awe of the boy's ingenuity; no doubt the Gamemakers, who never intended for those mines to be used by the tributes, were infuriated at being outsmarted. It was funny, in a macabre sort of way.

Cato had decided they should wait to track down other tributes under the cover of night, when they would probably be asleep or more vulnerable. The treasure at the cornucopia had wielded two pairs of night vision goggles they could use. They had decided to sleep for a few hours around dusk, with Marvel and Clove switching off on guard duty. He knew they were never going to allow him to guard, so he attempted to sleep while everyone else did, but he was too scared. Every time he closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off, he had a vision of Cato jumping on him and ripping out his guts. He'd jolt awake each time, his heart pounding, and he'd look around frantically only to find Marvel eyeing him suspiciously or Clove sneering at him as she stabbed the dirt with her knife. Exhaustion was catching up to him, especially because he hadn't been able to sleep the night before, but the gleam of her blade in the firelight gave him a new rush of adrenaline. He was almost glad when it was time to wake up and begin their trek through the woods.

Peeta stuffed some food, water and a blanket into a backpack and slung it over his shoulders. He was glad no one objected to this; if he ever managed or needed to break off from the Careers, he hoped he would have at least a few provisions. The Careers packed bags as well, lighting some torches and picking up their weapons. Axel was to stay behind at camp to watch over their supplies; the mines were more than enough security, but he wasn't going to be any use to them out in the woods. Cato and Clove wore the goggles while the other two held the torches. Grabbing a flashlight, Peeta tucked his knife into his belt where he could grab it easily if necessary.

As they were preparing for their hunt, the Capitol anthem began to play. Peeta anxiously watched the sky for the dead tributes' faces, willing Coralie's to be absent from the list. He made a mental note to himself as the list of the dead scrolled by: the District 3 girl; the boy from District 4; the District 5 boy; both tributes from 6 and 7; the District 8 boy; both tributes from District 9; and the girl from District 10. Relieved, he sighed quietly when the anthem ended; Coralie had survived.

Their group set off for the woods, and they were soon swallowed by the cloak of darkness created by the trees. The torches illuminated a circle around them with a radius of just a few feet, and the only sounds were the crunching of dead foliage under their boots and the crackling of the torches. It all felt so sinister, and Peeta shivered, zipping his jacket up to his throat.

They walked for hours; he didn't think the Careers had any path in mind or even really knew how to track prey through the woods. The tributes who had escaped the bloodbath were probably long gone by then. After a while, he looked up, trying to spy the moon through the trees; he figured it to be close to dawn. He felt a flicker of hope that they wouldn't find any of the tributes tonight.

"Hey, I think I see a fire up ahead!" Glimmer whispered, pointing. Peeta's heart sunk; sure enough, someone had lit a fire. The Careers grinned.

"Well, let's do this," Cato said gleefully, taking the lead. They approached quietly; as they got closer, Peeta could make out the sleeping form on the ground, curled up next to the fire. It looked like the District 8 girl. He forced himself to swallow his warning cry.

When they had her surrounded, Cato reached out his sword to touch the girl's cheek. "Time to wake up," he taunted, and the girl jerked awake. Her scream echoed around them, choking into a gurgle as Cato stabbed his sword through her stomach. Smirking sadistically, he pulled the sword out slowly. Peeta couldn't tear his eyes away from the girl's face; her eyes were wide with terror, her mouth frozen open as blood trickled out of the corners of her mouth. When she slumped to the ground, Cato bent down to clean his sword off on her sleeve.

He straightened and flashed everyone a smirk. "That was almost too easy." Everyone but Peeta whooped in celebration as they continued on their journey, clearing out of the area so the District 8 girl's body could be removed. They crashed through the trees, laughing, and Peeta trudged behind them, unable to shake the look on her face out of his head.

"Now it's 12 down and 11 more to go!" Glimmer cheered. They jogged a few more paces before Clove halted abruptly.

"I didn't hear a cannon go off," she said, and everyone else stopped to look at her.

"Maybe she's not dead," Marvel suggested.

"She's dead; I know where I stuck her," Cato snapped, scowling.

"Then why hasn't the cannon gone off?" Marvel asked.

"She's as good as dead, anyway," Cass offered.

"But what if she's not? It would be stupid to leave her and have to track her down all over again," Clove said crossly.

"We're wasting time," Peeta interjected harshly, trying to hedge out the quiver in his voice. "I'll go back and finish her, okay?"

"Go ahead, lover boy," Cato taunted, folding his arms over his chest. "We'll wait."

Turning on his heel, Peeta retraced their steps back to the District 8 tribute's campsite. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill the girl—he wasn't even sure he could—but he wanted to at least afford her the mercy of a quick death; the way Cato took his time pulling his sword out of her stomach, prolonging her agony, made him queasy. When he reached the dwindling fire, he could see the girl twitching on the ground, her hands pressed to the wound in her stomach, fruitlessly trying to stem the blood flow. Her round eyes snapped to his face, and she made a wet, strangled noise in the back of her throat, something like a whimper. She shook her head vigorously at him, tears streaming down her face. His stomach twisted painfully, and he held up his hands in a soothing gesture, dropping to his knees next to her. "Hey, it's all right, it's okay," he whispered, his voice trembling. She tried to scramble away from him, but the movement caused her cut to weep even more, and she started coughing violently, splattering red, sticky fluid down her chin.

She was choking on her own blood, he realized. At this rate, it would be several more minutes before she asphyxiated. Would it be kinder to wait or slit her throat and kill her immediately? "I'm sorry," he said woefully, but the apology seemed wholly inadequate. _Sorry for what? Sorry you're dying? Sorry I can't do anything to help you? Sorry I let them kill you? _A building pressure pricked at his eyes as she stared up at him wide-eyed, gasping and coughing up more blood. "I'm sorry this happened to you. What's your name?" He knew she couldn't answer him, so he racked his brain for what he knew about her. "Ester, right?" She wasn't listening to him anymore; her eyes were glazed over, and her lips were turning blue. He grabbed the handle of his knife in his belt, sliding it out carefully. "It'll be over soon, Ester," he whispered, feeling his eyes start to water, and he tentatively touched the hair on her forehead in what he hoped was a comforting motion. "I'm sorry…" Then he tilted her head forehead, pressed the blade of his knife to her pale throat, right over her carotid artery, and with a quick, purposeful flick of his wrist, he sliced it open.

Violent red blood squirted from the gash, spraying the side of his face. He watched the life drain from her eyes, and her whole body depressed in his arms almost immediately, her hands going limp on her stomach. Her dead eyes seemed to peer into him, and he slid his fingertips down her eyelids, closing them. He forced himself to walk away, swiping at his eyes and the blood on his face with his sleeve. As he was hiking back, the cannon went off.

"Was she dead?" Glimmer asked indifferently as he approached.

"No, but she is now," he said. He could hear the hovercraft moving in, finally.

"Took you long enough," Clove said haughtily. Had it? He feigned indifference.

"I wanted to check her jacket to see if she had anything on her. She didn't," he said evenly. The blood on his face still felt warm. "Let's go."

After a few more miles of hiking, the morning sun began to filter through the trees. They stopped to eat a few of their provisions before Cato decided they should put their hunting on hold and head back to their camp. The walk back didn't seem to take as long, and Peeta wondered how close they had circled back around toward the edge of the woods during their trek before they had come across Ester. When they made it back to camp, Peeta's whole body ached. Cato told Axel he was on guard duty while the rest of them slept, and Peeta wasted no time climbing into his sleeping bag; he was sure he was out before his head even hit the ground. He had no trouble sleeping this time, even with the haunting feeling of Ester's dead eyes watching him, but when Cass kicked him to rouse him hours later, he nearly jumped out of his skin before he realized he wasn't being attacked. The District 1 tributes laughed at him, and Clove and Cass both smirked mockingly, but not Cato. Cato was never amused by him. Peeta imagined the District 2 tribute was too busy fantasizing about the many different ways to snap his neck.

"Let's eat now and then head out," Cato commanded. As everyone dug into their food, Axel started to lie down, but Cato shot him a glare. "Did I say you could sleep?"

The boy looked stricken, and he scrambled to his feet. Cato just snorted, tearing into a chunk of his bread with his teeth. Peeta felt bad for Axel; his duty as post might have been the easiest, but he was living on borrowed time. He probably spent every minute wondering when Cato was going to kill him. Peeta wondered the same for himself.

The woods weren't nearly as menacing in the daytime. It was late afternoon, so Peeta kept the flashlight in his backpack. The others still carried their unlit torches and goggles for when night came. They decided to head a different direction than they had yesterday. After a few hours, they came across a clearing, where the trees were sparse. There were large rocks decorating the landscape, a small stream meandering through them. The stream seemed to stretch for miles in both directions, disappearing into the woods on either sides; Peeta wondered if it led back to the lake near the cornucopia. His eyes followed it east, coming to rest on a person's form at the edge, perched on a flat rock surface as she drank from the water. His face paled. Coralie. _Shit_.

The others seemed to spot her a second after he did. "Look!" Clove exclaimed, pointing at the girl. Coralie looked up at the sound of Clove's voice then quickly darted away, fading away into the trees. The Careers charged after her, Peeta on their heels, and they splashed through the shallow stream, yards behind Coralie. They chased her through the woods, quickly gaining on her; seeming to sense the closing distance between her and her pursuers, Coralie sprung onto a nearby tree, scurrying up the trunk and grabbing branches to pull herself up. She was several branches off the ground when they reached her, circling the base of the tree.

"Where do you think you're going, 12?" Cato called up to her, laughing with the other Careers. His pulse throbbing, Peeta watched Coralie scrambling to climb higher, her feet slipping several times as she tried to find her footing on the branches.

"Here, let me get her," Glimmer said, nocking an arrow on her bow and aiming it up at their target. Peeta's heart leapt into his throat when she released the string; luckily, she was a poor shot, and the arrow lodged into the tree trunk. Glimmer cursed, and the Careers began arguing over who should climb up the tree to get her.

Suddenly, Coralie cried out above him, and Peeta's eyes snapped back to her. Her feet had slipped out from under her, and she dangled precariously from a branch, her hands clawing to hold on.

"Looks like we don't have to go up there, after all," Clove said with a snort. "We can just wait for her to fall." They began to yell at the girl, encouraging her to let go of the branch.

Peeta's mind was racing. He couldn't just let them kill her, but he only had a knife; even if he managed to take out one of the Careers, one of the others would get him, and Coralie would be next, as soon as she dropped to the ground. Panicked, he began scanning the area around them, desperate for some kind of plan, anything. Then he saw it.

A huge wasp nest, hanging from the branch of a nearby tree. He followed the nest down to the ground, calculating that it would fall just a couple feet from where the Careers stood. Licking his dry lips, he checked to make sure the tributes weren't watching him, then he inconspicuously picked up a sizeable branch from the ground a few feet away. He didn't know what kind of wasps they were, but he hoped they were the angry kind. Planting his feet on the ground, he twisted his body and heaved the branch into the air with a grunt. It connected with a thump, and the nest crashed to the ground. There was a split second of stunned silence; then, a swarm of angry wasps burst into the air, the cacophony of buzzing jarring the Careers into action.

They started screaming, swatting at the flying insects. Peeta was jolted into action when he felt a sting on his arm, his neck, his hand, and he noticed how large the wasps were. His mind quickly made the connection: these were tracker jackers. Seized by fear, he stumbled backwards. "Run!" he screamed, mostly at Coralie, but he hoped she was high enough off the ground to go unnoticed by the tracker jackers. He noticed Cato, Clove and Marvel were already running away, but Glimmer and Cass staggered a few steps after them before collapsing on the ground, flailing at the tracker jackers. Instinct took over, and Peeta turned away, his body lurching into a sprint. He felt a few more stings and flapped his hands around uselessly. He wasn't sure how long or how far he ran, but he felt the venom from the stings spreading through his blood quickly. The arena began to careen around him. He crashed into several trees, his head feeling woozy. A few times he tripped over tree roots, and each time it was harder to get back up. His vision was swirling, the sun was too bright, and the leaves expanded before his eyes, ballooning into huge green bubbles before bursting into stars and exploding into supernovas. Slamming into a tree, Peeta listed to the side and collapsed in a pile of leaves, which began to slither and hiss. He screamed, kicking at the leaves frantically, but they were crawling all over him. He swiveled around, trying to crawl away on his hands and knees, but something wrapped around his ankle and yanked him back. He screamed one more time just before his chin slammed into the ground, and the world went black.


	7. And the sky was made of amethyst

**VII. And the sky was made of amethyst**

He dreamed that Cato was sticking needles in his skin, over and over again, laughing manically, before he started peeling the skin off his face. Peeta couldn't scream, and he felt like he was floating in bubbles. When he was finally able to stand up, he realized he was standing in a river of blood, soaked from head to toe. He tried to swim, but the liquid congealed around him, making it harder and harder to move. His hand touched something, and he grasped at it to propel himself forward, but when he did, he pulled Ester's body from the depths of the river. Her mouth was frozen wide in a scream of terror, her eyes staring at him accusingly as the red gash on her throat smiled mockingly at him. Tracker jackers swarmed out of her mouth, and he cried out, pushing her away from him, but when he did, it was Katniss' lifeless body that floated away from him.

"Katniss!" he yelled, trying to swim after her, but something was wrapped around his ankle, rooting him in place. "Katniss!" he yelled again desperately, splashing in the blood, but her body drifted farther and farther away. "KATNISS!" he wailed. "I'm sorry!"

He felt his body sink into the river, but he didn't fight it. Everything was dark and silent, and when he finally surfaced, he opened his eyes. The light was blinding, and he squinted, groaning. A dark shadow fell over his face. "Katniss?" he asked hoarsely.

He heard a rustling, and the shadow vanished. She was leaving him again. "Wait!" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Please, don't go."

He blinked a few times, tree limbs and open sky coming into focus. He was in the woods. With a pained moan, he forced himself to sit up. His vision dipped dangerously, and he clutched his head. When his equilibrium settled, he looked around at his surroundings, finding the shadow caster crouched on the ground a few feet away from him.

"Rue," he croaked softly, and she stiffened under his gaze, her expression apprehensive. "I'm not going to hurt you." As soon as he said it, he wanted to laugh. He was in no position to hurt anyone. "This would actually be a perfect opportunity to take me out, if you wanted," he tried to joke, grimacing at how stiff his body felt.

She was quiet for a moment, then spoke timidly, "I don't want to kill anyone."

Peeta sighed and nodded in understanding. "Me neither." But he already had, he reminded himself, Ester's throat grinning wetly at him whenever he closed his eyes. He touched his chin tentatively when he noticed it was stinging and winced as his fingers skimmed over a scrape. It was coming back to him now; he remembered knocking the tracker jacker nest to the ground to save Coralie, getting stung and running away. He must have passed out. He looked down at his foot and saw some roots and vines wrapped around it. He remembered tripping and hitting his chin.

He glanced at Rue. "What happened?" he asked, wondering why she was there.

She seemed to realize he wasn't going to hurt her, so she began picking at some twigs on the ground next to her. "You got stung by tracker jackers. I saw you knock the nest down, so I followed you. I pulled the stingers out while you were unconscious."

"How long was I out?"

"Two days. I covered you with leaves at night when I climbed up into the trees to sleep in case anyone came through here," she said shyly.

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Why...why would you do that?"

She shrugged. "You seemed nice in training and in your interview. I didn't understand why you were with the Careers...but I saw you knock down that nest to save Coralie, and I knew you had gotten stung, so I thought I'd follow you and...help you."

He was stunned. "I...thank you, Rue." He smiled at her, and she returned it bashfully.

"I have some leaves for your stings that will help with the swelling," she said, pulling some leaves out of her pocket. He watched as she popped them in her mouth and chewed them. Then she spit them into her hand with a wad of saliva and gestured for his hand. Curious, he held it out to her, and she pressed the chewed-up leaves to the swollen knot on his hand. The relief was immediate.

"Oh, wow. That feels good," he gushed in awe, and she smiled. She took out more leaves and chewed them up until she had covered all his visible stings. "Thank you. I wish I had something to give you in return..."

She blushed. "Um, I kinda...went through your bag and ate some of your food. Not much though, I promise!" she finished hastily.

He chuckled, shrugging it off. "No, that's okay. It's not like I was using any of it the past two days," he said. "I'm just glad I had the foresight to pack more provisions before I left the lake with the Careers."

Rue pursed her lips in thought. "So...why were you with them?"

Sighing, Peeta ran a hand through his hair, picking out leaves and twigs. "I don't exactly have any survival skills. I have no idea how to hunt or navigate the woods, and I figured joining the Careers was my best chance of getting food and water. Guess I kinda blew that, though. I didn't exactly expect to part from them so soon." He flashed her a crooked smile.

"I can help you," she said hopefully. "I know the woods. Well, I can climb trees pretty well. I worked in the fields back home. And I know what plants to eat." She pulled a handful of berries from her pocket to show him.

His smile widened. "Well, how can I say no to that?" Rue beamed at him, and her eyes lit up as if she had just remembered something. Sliding the straps off her arms, she pulled his backpack from her shoulders and held it out to him.

"I was just keeping it safe," she said sheepishly.

"Thank you, Rue," he said gratefully. He zipped it open and began searching for something to eat. "Being unconscious for two days, I'm pretty hungry." He found a package of dried meat and pulled it out, tearing off the plastic. "Did you eat anything yet?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay for now."

He tore off a few bites with his teeth, chewing the meat slowly. Deciding he needed to ration out what food he had left, especially if he was going to be feeding Rue as well, he packed the meat away and found an apple. Once he finished that, he took a few gulps of water from his bottle. "Guess we'll need to refill this soon. Are we far from a stream?"

Rue stuck her head up, scanning the area. "Maybe a mile."

Peeta wondered if it was the stream they had found Coralie at. The thought of her sent his mind back to the last time he saw her, in the tree. "Rue, what happened to Coralie? Is she okay?" he asked in alarm.

Her face fell, feeling him with dread. "The Careers got her," she said apologetically.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. "Oh," he breathed, his eyes glazing over as they dropped. "Oh." He felt numb. Coralie was dead? He had tried to help her, but he had failed. Had he bought her any more time with the tracker jacker nest? Or had she been stung too? How had the Careers gotten her? He saw them run off before he did. "How?" His throat felt tight, dry.

"I think the Careers ran to the stream to get away from the tracker jackers. Coralie fell from the tree, and it looked like she hurt her leg. She was trying to run away when Cato came back and found her. He...with his sword," Rue gestured with her hands, and Peeta swallowed thickly. "But he passed out, too, in the woods. I saw him come to yesterday. I think they headed back to their camp."

He didn't know what to say. His district partner was dead. Killed at Cato's hands. He should have stayed to help her, but he had run. Like a coward. Pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes, hard, he inhaled shakily. "Damnit. God damnit." Something in him snapped, and he heaved the backpack away from him, yelling angrily, "God damnit!" The woods echoed with his shout, birds scattering in the trees. That was stupid; he hoped no one else was nearby to find them.

Rue was staring at him, aghast, and seeing her expression caused him to deflate quickly. "I'm sorry, Rue, I don't mean to—" His voice caught in his throat, and he rapidly blinked back tears. He closed his eyes. "I just...I didn't want her to die. I tried to help her. She was just so...scared. I should have helped her more." They were silent for a moment until Peeta spoke again sorrowfully, "She didn't deserve to die."

Rue just nodded solemnly. After a pause, Peeta stood up slowly, his muscles aching. He grunted and walked over to where his bag had landed, scooping it back up and sliding it over his shoulders. Rue stood up too, and he turned back to her. "Look, if you don't want to stick with me, I'd understand. I can't climb trees, and I'd probably just hold you back," he told her seriously.

She seemed to shrink, looking down at the ground. "I don't want to be alone," she said in a small voice.

Peeta pursed his lips, then smiled slightly in understanding and touched her shoulder. She looked up at him. "Me either," he said softly, and she returned the smile. "But, seriously, anytime you want to climb a tree and take off, go right ahead." Her smile widened, and she nodded. "Okay, I think we should head back to that stream and get some water."

As they began their trek toward the stream in the direction Rue indicated, Peeta tried to keep his mind from wandering to Coralie, but it was nearly impossible. He had horrible thoughts about her last moments at Cato's sword; he was glad he hadn't eaten much in the past couple days because he felt himself getting nauseous. He thought about her family back home, her four brothers who probably wanted him dead now, too, for failing to help their little sister. Trying to focus on the task at hand, he decided to inquire about Rue and her life back home. He learned that she had worked in the fields at District 11, climbing trees to pick the fruit because she was so small. She was the oldest child in her family, the big sister to her five siblings. He told her about being the youngest in his family with two older brothers and how they would torment him growing up, but he laughed about it because it forced him to toughen up, and he learned how to wrestle to defend himself.

They found the stream and spent a few minutes filling up his water bottle and washing off the grime from their faces. Peeta could tell the bandage on his face was pretty dirty by that point, but he decided to leave it on and avoided getting it wet.

"I think we should stick close to the stream to help orient ourselves," Peeta said, and Rue nodded in agreement. "Maybe we should follow it west—I think that's west—and see where it takes us, what kind of shelter we can find." He was pretty sure heading east would take them to the lake and the Careers, and he wanted to avoid them as long as possible. They headed west, the clearing giving way to more woods eventually. Rue asked him about his work in the bakery, eager to hear about the kind of treats Peeta made, so he described them in detail—the cakes he frosted, the pastries, the breads, the desserts. He told her about his favorite pastry they made, pastry puffs filled with brie cheese and raspberry preserves. His mouth watered just thinking about it, and Rue looked at him wistfully.

"That must be nice, getting to eat those kinds of things, whenever you want."

Shaking his head, Peeta hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps. "Unfortunately, we don't get to eat them whenever we want. We have to sell them. But we do get the leftovers from the day, so that's fairly nice." He knew how lucky he was to even eat stale pastries from the bakery. The memory of a destitute Katniss, crawling through the mud for a loaf of bread, flashed through his mind, and he closed his eyes, overcome with the thought of her. He tried to replace the image with the memory of what she looked like the last time he saw her, tried to recall what her hand felt like in his. But all he could remember was how easily Ester's flesh gave way underneath his hand.

He sighed and opened his eyes, stepping over a large rock. Rue cast him a sideways glance. "Do you know who else has died?" he asked her quietly.

She thought it over. "I think it was just the girl from District 1 and the girl from District 4."

For some reason, he wasn't prepared for that. He nearly stumbled over a tree root. "From—from the tracker jackers?" he asked, surprised, and she nodded. He didn't say anything in response, struggling with how he should feel about that fact. He hadn't meant to kill either of them. He knew he should be relieved—that was two less opponents—but knowing he had killed them twisted his insides with guilt. Glimmer's death especially weighed on him, considering how accepting she was of him joining the Careers. He tried to think about something else, about which tributes that left, but he couldn't think of anything but the sound of Glimmer's and Cass' screams as the tracker jackers swarmed them.

"We need to find shelter of some kind," he muttered, shaking his head to clear the thoughts. _Focus on the present_, he warned himself. He wasn't sure what to look for though.

The terrain eventually became rockier, the trees spread farther apart, and soon they were climbing over or around huge rock structures. They stopped several times to scan the area before finally coming across a cave. "Here we go!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees to crawl inside. The cave was a few meters deep and a few feet wide, and though the roof of it wasn't high enough for him to stand, it could still house him and Rue somewhat comfortably. Most importantly, it was a place to sleep and a shelter against the elements. Rue crawled in behind them, looking relieved to be off her feet. She probably rarely touched the ground, with how well she moved among the trees. It was certainly safer for her off the ground, he thought with a pang of remorse.

Pulling his backpack off, he dug out some of the meat for her and handed her the water bottle. She smiled in thanks, and he waited for her to eat before he took some bites, too. It wasn't nearly enough to satiate his hunger, but he didn't know if he'd get any more food after what little he had ran out. Rue pulled out some of her berries and dropped a few in his hand, and he flashed her a grin in gratitude. They were a little tart, but mostly sweet. They reminded him of some of the berries they used at the bakery.

"Listen—do you hear that?" Rue asked suddenly is a hushed whisper. Peeta froze, fear stilling his limbs.

"What, do you hear someone?" he asked just as quietly, but she smiled widely at him, shaking her head.

"No, the birds. They're singing. Can you hear them?"

He strained his ears and, sure enough, he could pick up the faint sounds of birds singing just beyond the cave. "Yeah, I hear them."

"Listen to this," Rue said, inching closer to edge of the cage and whistling four, loud notes. She paused, and a moment later, the birds picked up the song, singing the four exact notes back. Peeta laughed, and she grinned, pleased. "You try it."

It took a few tries for Peeta to get the right notes, and finally the birds were singing back to him, the entire woods pulsing with the music. Rue's whole face seemed to glow with delight, and Peeta was happy to witness her joy. "They're mockingjays. They're all over the place back home. I used to whistle to them to signal quitting time, and they would sing the notes back. But they can pick up even more complicated songs than that," Rue explained. Mockingjays. Peeta thought about his pin, the bird on it that Portia had pointed out as a mockingjay. As if she could hear his thoughts, Rue's eyes fell to the gold pin on his jacket, and he touched it. "That's the bird on your pin. When I saw it, that's how I knew I could trust you," she said. "Do you like mockingjays?"

His fingers traced the ring and the lines of the bird's wings. "I don't really know much about them," he admitted. "My friend gave this to me after the reaping."

She raised an eyebrow. "Was it Katniss?"

The name on Rue's lips startled him. "How do you know her name?" he asked, confused, but she smiled coyly.

"You said it a lot while you were unconscious," she said and giggled when his mouth dropped open.

He groaned, his cheeks flaming, and he ran a hand over his face in embarrassment. He wondered how much of this the cameras were picking up, how horrified Katniss must be back home. "That's incredibly embarrassing," he laughed weakly. "But no, she didn't give this to me. My friend Madge did."

"So was Katniss the one you were talking about in your interview?" she teased, sitting cross-legged and propping her chin in her hand.

"Jeez, is this what it's like to have a younger sister?" he grouched jokingly, wondering how much redder his face could get.

Rue laughed again. "Yes, so you have to indulge me because I never get to be the little sister who gets to pester her older brother!"

Peeta grunted in acquiescence, trying to bite back a smile but failing. He leaned back against the cave wall and glanced around the cave curiously. How much should he divulge? He feared how his confession would make Katniss feel, but he figured he had already let the cat out of the bag, so how much worse could it get? He thought about Haymitch's words when they were discussing strategy: _"They just want a good show. You can give them one about romance and unrequited love, and they'll eat that shit up. It'll help humanize you with this crowd." _He could use a reminder of his humanity after everything, and he hoped he commanded the Capitol's attention now.

"Yes, her name is Katniss," he started slowly, looking down at his pin. "I bet she would love mockingjays, though. I bet they would love her too. She has the most beautiful voice I've ever heard, and when she sang, I swear, the birds stopped to listen."

Rue's eyes were wide in wonder. "Really?"

He nodded, lost in his memories. "I remember the first time I saw her. It was the first day of kindergarten. We were lined up outside, and she was dressed in this red plaid dress, and her hair was in two braids. My dad pointed her out to me, and he said, 'Do you see that girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coalminer.'" The words slipped out before he could think about it, and he cringed inwardly. God, his mother would lose her shit hearing that. He suspected that was part of the reason she was so angry all the time, knowing she was his father's second choice. "I asked him, 'But why would she do that when she could have you?' And he told me, 'Because when he sang, the birds stopped to listen.'

"Later that day, in school, our teacher asked if anyone knew the Valley Song, and her hand shot right up. The teacher stood her on top of her chair, and she began to sing. And I looked out the window, and sure enough, all the birds outside had stopped to listen."

Rue sighed softly, her eyes shining. Peeta flashed her a crooked grin. "I've been a goner ever since."

"So she's like your mockingjay," she said, awed, and he laughed.

"I guess so."

"What did she say to you after the reaping?" she asked inquisitively.

Peeta hesitated. He didn't want to reveal too much about the bread incident, somehow understanding how much it hurt her pride just to even acknowledge it to him. Their last moment together wasn't really the kind of stuff epic love stories were made of, unfortunately. "She told me to try to win. I tried to tell her...how I felt, but she wouldn't let me. She told me to win, and—if I came back, I could tell her then."

Rue's face creased with sadness, but he wasn't sure who it was for. "Maybe you will win, and you'll get the chance to tell her."

He stared at her silently, this little wisp of a girl, who helped him when she didn't have to, who had five siblings back home to take care of, and who had survived against all odds so far. And he knew, if it was a choice between his own life and hers, he would choose hers, every time. He smiled sadly at her.

"I want you to win, Rue. I want you to survive this, and I want you to grow up, and I want you to grow old, and you're going to live a long, happy life, okay?" He felt seized by a sudden sense of urgency by the time he finished talking, and his voice quivered, but he felt strong in his resolve. Her eyes watered, and then she was by his side, hugging him tightly, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.

"You would be a good older brother," she said fiercely, causing him to smile. Yes, he thought, there was something particularly despicable about this 12-year-old girl being chosen for these games.

They sat in silence for a moment, and in that time Peeta felt a new sort of purpose. "We're not going to have much of a chance against those Careers, though," he said thoughtfully, and she pulled back, shaking her head. "So we need to figure out how to raise those odds in our favor."

"How? They're strong, and they have all that food and all those supplies."

"Yeah, they do," he agreed, disheartened, but then a plan started to formulate in his mind. "But what if they didn't?" She looked at him questioningly, and he sat up straight, his mind racing. "The only reason the odds are stacked so heavily in their favor is because they've bogarted all the food. If they didn't have that, they wouldn't know how to hunt or forage. But you _do _know how to feed yourself. If we can knock out their food source, that would greatly level the playing field."

"But how are we going to get rid of all their supplies?" she asked in disbelief.

His eyes lit up in determination. "Mines."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** For those wanting to see more Katniss, I understand! It's obviously kind of hard to do with her not in the games, and I didn't want to focus on her just watching the games because I think that can get kind of boring. I do have another chapter from her POV written, though, which will be like 3 chapters from now. Sorry if you're disappointed about the lack of our Mockingjay! This is a Peeta-centric story, but I've already started writing the sequel to this story, and there will be lots more Katniss and Everlark interaction then. Thank you so much for reading and hanging in there with me!_


	8. Interlude

**VII. Interlude**

Haymitch was going to kill Peeta Mellark. If the kid managed to get out of the games alive, he was certain he was going to kill him. From the screen on his console, Haymitch watched the blond-haired boy split his provisions—his very limited amount of provisions, at that—with the little girl from District 11, muttering angrily to himself and cursing the fact that he had already licked up the dregs of his Old Fashioned nearly an hour ago. And now his glass was empty. And he was still going to kill Peeta Mellark.

The beginning of the games had started out promising for the baker's son. He had convinced the Careers to let him join their alliance, without getting his throat slit for his trouble, and had access to a nearly limitless supply of food, water and weapons. Haymitch had watched with mild compassion as Peeta comforted the dying District 8 girl and gave her a quick death, but he kicked his chair over in frustration when Peeta knocked the tracker jacker nest down trying to save Coralie. But he could forgive that, kind of, because he knew Peeta would have had to leave the Career pack at some point. Maybe he could have held out a couple more days, but, okay, that was fine; Haymitch could overlook that transgression. But when the kid collapsed from the venom, he anticipated the cannon and the alert that his tribute had died, downing about a fourth of a bottle of vodka before he realized the kid's vital signs were still online. He went ahead and gulped down another fourth after Cato came back and gutted Coralie.

He was agitated and on edge while he waited for Peeta to wake up, scaring the living shit out of Effie whenever she wandered into his room to check on him. Watching the girl from 11 come upon Peeta's unconscious body, he nearly pissed himself with laughter, tickled by the thought that this unsuspecting twig of a child might just be the one to take out his tribute. But she didn't. And at first, he was intrigued by how the girl tended to Peeta, almost protecting him while he was out, but the moment the kid finally came to, he was right back on edge. There was no way Peeta was going to leave this girl, he knew, and she was a walking liability for the kid. From his conversations with Peeta, Haymitch knew the kid would die if it meant someone like Rue would survive. And Peeta pretty much confirmed that in the cave. Livid, Haymitch gritted his teeth, growling deep in his throat; of course, he would get the one fucking martyr of the damn group.

Hearing the clicks of high heels on the tiled floor of the hallway, Haymitch leaned his chair back. "Effie! Get in here!" he hollered. The pace of the clicks got faster, and she appeared in the doorway in her obscenely yellow dress and matching hat. "I need more liquor," he demanded, and her face twisted into a frown as she brandished a fifth of whiskey.

"This what you're looking for?" she said haughtily, teetering toward him with the bottle in her outstretched hand.

"Thanks, doll," he drawled sarcastically, taking the bottle from her. "But I'll probably need more of this in an hour."

Her nostrils flared in distaste, and she motioned to the screen. "Shouldn't you be helping Peeta instead of getting drunk?"

He snorted, cracking the lid on the bottle. "I can only do so much for someone who has a death wish, sweetheart." He punctuated his sentence with a swig of the whiskey. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he held out his hand to her when he suddenly remembered something. "I need some more of those pills."

With a huff, she dug a small bottle out of her purse and slapped it down into his open hand. "They really shouldn't be mixed with alcohol, I'm pretty certain."

He dropped two capsules into his hand and popped them into his mouth, swallowing them down with a mouthful of whiskey. They helped keep him awake, and as he was the only current mentor of District 12, he wasn't allowed breaks so he could sleep while someone else kept an eye on the games. At least in the past, he'd been able to pass out cold into an alcohol-soaked coma after a day or two, maybe three; this year, he'd already been awake five days straight. Another reason why he was going to kill Peeta Mellark.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. If anything, these pills are kinda killing my buzz. And so are you."

She sighed and stared at the two tributes on the main screen. There were multiple other screens that featured the other tributes in the arena, but Haymitch needed to follow his tribute at all times, even if it wasn't the footage the Gamemakers were broadcasting to the rest of the country.

"He's doing pretty well, though, isn't he? I've been talking with a lot of folks in the city, and a lot of them seem to like him," she said happily. Haymitch snorted again, but Effie was oblivious. "I've been calling him our own little pearl. People are so sympathetic to the fact that he comes from the poor, filthy District 12, but I told them—and, oh, this was so clever of me—I told them, 'If you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls!'"

Effie was an idiot. "Genius, Effie, absolutely genius," he deadpanned, but she was never one for subtlety.

She clapped her hands together in excitement. "I think we might have a winner this year, Haymitch!"

He wanted to laugh, but he took a sip of his brandy instead. "If that little shit makes it out alive, I'm going to kill him myself."

"Haymitch!" she gasped in admonishment, her hands resting on her hips. "Try to be positive!"

"You're right. If that little shit makes it out alive, I'm _positive_ I'm going to kill him myself."

She pursed her lips in annoyance, the neon orange lipstick in stark contrast to her yellow hat. "There's only nine tributes left right now. If he makes it to the Top 8, I've got to head back to District 12 to do interviews, so try to focus on getting him to that point. Then maybe we can scrounge up some more sponsors for him."

Peeta had a fair amount of sponsors already, at least more than Haymitch was used to receiving. A lot had come from Capitol viewers and some from District 12. Most of the money from 12 had dried up once Peeta joined the Careers, though, which Haymitch expected, but luckily there had been an uptick in Capitol donations to make up for it. The flow had dwindled since the kid split from the Careers, but Haymitch sat on the money for the time being anyway, waiting for the opportune moment to spend it. _If that moment ever comes_, he mused. Prices of supplies were steadily increasing the longer the games went on.

Looking at the figures of Peeta and Rue on his screen, Haymitch contemplated his next move. A slow grin spread across his face when it came to him. "Get me some paper and a pen, Effie. And an envelope!" he demanded. Surprised, Effie shuffled through a nearby desk until she came up with the supplies, setting them down on the table in front of Haymitch. He scribbled one sentence on the sheet of paper, folded it up and stuffed it in the envelope. Licking it closed, he handed the letter to Effie with a smirk. "Hold on to this. And if you make it to District 12 for interviews, I need you to deliver it to a Katniss Everdeen. You're gonna want to make sure you interview her."


	9. Help me, I broke apart my insides

**IX. Help me, I broke apart my insides**

Huddled next to Rue, Peeta detailed his plan to eliminate the Careers' supplies stash. He told her about the mines they had arranged around the pile, so he knew exactly where they had been placed. It wouldn't be enough to set just one off, he knew; he needed to create a chain reaction among all the mines to effect any substantial damage. When Rue had asked him how he planned to do that, he had to think about it. Typically, Axel was the only one guarding the camp while the Careers hunted. Peeta needed to get close enough but not too close, lest he got caught in the explosion himself. Peeta figured he'd attempt the same kind of maneuver he had with the tracker jacker nest: Find something large enough and throw it onto the mines. He didn't know if the plan was solid, but his ability to lift heavy objects was about all he had going for him. "If only we had huge bags of flour," he joked, mostly to himself, because he didn't think Rue would understand the reference.

They decided Peeta would go alone while Rue waited in the cave. He figured Cato, Clove and Marvel would wait till evening or night time to leave camp; he would wait till the next morning to set off for their camp because he wasn't sure how long of a walk it would be.

While they were discussing their plan, they heard a cannon shot. Peeta tensed, and Rue looked toward the mouth of the cave fearfully. He sighed in mild relief after a few minutes passed, not hearing any nearby hovercraft. "I don't think that was too close to us," he told Rue, wondering who had died, silently hoping it was one of the Careers.

That night, they ate from his dwindling provisions; Rue encouraged him to keep the rest of the jerky for his hike to the lake. She said she could easily find more plants to eat tomorrow. He debated leaving his knife with her, but he worried he would need it in case he ran into the Careers on his way there. "Stay close to the cave, and if you see or hear anyone, you better scale a tree immediately," he warned her, and she nodded in understanding. Peeta only had the one blanket in his backpack, and they curled together underneath it. He told her to rest her head on his arm while she slept. It was cold, but their body temperatures combined under the blanket helped somewhat, and after a few hours, he woke her up to keep guard while he dozed on and off.

Before he set off the next day in the morning, she gave him a fierce hug. "Be careful," she said, her voice quivering, and he smiled at her warmly.

"I will. I'm not sure when I'll be back, so remember what I said; stay close to this cave."

With that, he set off for the Careers' camp, keeping close to the stream as he headed east. He hoped he was right about it leading to the lake, but he figured walking east would bring him to it eventually, regardless. He kept his knife in his hand as he walked, tensing every time he heard a rustle. Once he saw a squirrel or a rabbit dart away, he would relax. He tried to keep his tread light, but he knew he was failing miserably; he had no idea how to avoid stepping on leaves or twigs when they littered the entire floor of the woods. While he walked, he tried to conjure up the list of tributes who remained. The anthem last night revealed the cannon had been for the District 10 tribute, Bronson. That left Marvel; Cato and Clove; Axel; the girl from District 5—_Carmine_, he thought; Rue and Thresh; and him. That was eight tributes, still a lot left.

Peeta walked for hours, his feet aching and his stomach cramping with hunger. The sun blazed above him, inching through the sky, and he was grateful for the cover of the trees. He took sips of water periodically, trying to stave off his need to eat for as long as possible. Eventually, he could see the trees thinning out ahead of him, and he knew he was approaching the lake; he could see the sun sparkling on the water through the tree trunks. Before he got too close, he veered off to the north, deciding to wrap around the lake and come up on the other side of their camp; he didn't think the Careers would expect anyone from that side. It was a long trek as the lake was pretty large, but he could make out the camp across the lake when he was directly opposite it.

It was fairly late in the day by the time he had circled the lake to the other side. As he got closer, he heard the voices of the Careers, and he stopped in his tracks when he could make them out through the trees. Crouching in his spot, Peeta decided he was close enough; he would watch them from there and wait for his moment. The pile of supplies wasn't too far from the edge of the woods, so he could hopefully approach at some point without being detected right away. The three Careers sat huddled in a group, talking, while Axel sat a few feet away. After about an hour, he saw the Careers stand up and start packing their weapons. It was evening, and the sun was dipping further in the west; Peeta knew they were heading out to hunt. He waited for them to leave, and as he expected, they headed back into the woods across the way.

Eyeing the huge pile of supplies, he debated when he should make his move. He wanted to wait until the Careers were far enough away that they couldn't immediately run back to their camp after the explosion and potentially catch him before he could get away. He inched closer to the edge of the woods, abiding his time. He kept a watchful eye on Axel, wondering what he should do about him, but he noticed the boy's head constantly drooping as he fought off sleep. It wasn't long before his chin dipped down to his chest and stayed there.

It was time; Peeta stood up straight, jiggling his cramped legs as he surveyed the area for something, anything, large enough to throw. He pulled his backpack off and unzipped it, dropping his knife inside. Shrugging it back on his shoulders, he ventured a few feet to the side, always keeping the pile of supplies in his line of sight, before he stumbled across a fallen log. It was about the length of his body. He kicked it with his foot to dislodge it from the dirt and leaves, then he squatted beside it and lifted it in his hands to test its weight; it was heavy, but it felt like it weighed about the same as a large bag of flour. Confident he would be able to throw it a far enough distance, he hoisted it into his arms and crept back toward the camp. At the tree line, he hesitated momentarily, waiting for any sign of movement from Axel. When he was sure the tribute was still asleep, he stepped forward from the cover of the trees and slowly inched toward the camp. Then he stopped. His heart was pounding. The pile of supplies was meters in front of him, and he could make out the scattering of dirt-covered holes that hid the mines. He was fairly close to the pile, uncomfortably close, but he didn't think he could throw the log any farther than that; he glanced at the lake to his right. He couldn't swim, but if he could dive into the lake before the explosion reached him, he could dodge the fire, and he might be able pull his way out of the water. Somehow.

Perspiration was beading on his forehead as his muscles strained under the weight of the log. He shifted it in his arms so he could lift it above his head, and his gaze shifted to Axel, who was oblivious to Peeta's presence. He frowned; Axel was too close to the pile, and he would surely get caught in the explosion.

He whistled sharply, calling out to the tribute, "Hey!" Axel's head snapped up; disoriented, he glanced around, his eyes widening when he saw Peeta, and he scrambled to his feet, grabbing for a spear. "You might want to take a step back," Peeta warned as realization dawned on the boy's face, and Axel turned to run. Drawing the log over his head, Peeta heaved it at the pile. He watched it long enough to see it arc in the air before it began to fall toward the ground in front of the supplies. Then he spun on his heel and sprinted for the lake.

The log hit the ground behind him, and for a split second, everything was silent. Then the first explosion rocked the ground, followed by several others; the sound hit his ears a second before the blast reached him, launching him off the ground. His body felt suspended in air for a moment before he crashed through the surface of the lake, sinking heavily through the water. Above him, he saw a plume of smoke and flames burst over the lake, and then it was gone. Peeta floundered as his body sank, kicking his arms and legs out wildly. When his feet touched the bottom, he used the momentum to propel himself up, splicing through the water. He broke the surface, gasping and choking, but his head dipped below the water again, and again, and he had a real moment of panic that he was going to drown. His clothes were too heavy in the water, weighing him down. When he surfaced, he angled his body toward shore, kicking his legs behind him, but he accidentally inhaled more water and choked violently. In a last ditch effort, he cut his arms through the water, waving them around, trying to grasp onto something, anything. His right hand connected with something hard, and he clawed at it desperately, finally getting both his hands on it.

It dipped under the water with him, but it seemed buoyed, and Peeta dragged himself to the surface, drawing the object to his chest. This time, he stayed afloat. Coughing painfully, he forced himself to suck in deep breaths, spitting out water with each cough. When his chest had mostly finished seizing for air, he looked down at the object under his arms. It was half of a wooden crate; it must have been launched into the lake by the explosion. He looked around him, noticing other bits of debris floating on the lake, and he looked toward the camp. Dirt and smoke still lingered in the air, but most of the supplies had been destroyed, the wreckage strewn across the grass.

Kicking his feet, Peeta pushed himself to the shore, and when his feet touched the bottom, he pushed the crate out of his way and crawled onto the grass, water dripping from his clothes and pooling underneath him. He coughed a few more times, savoring every breath of air he dragged into his lungs, then forced his head up to inspect the area. For the first time, he realized his ears were ringing. He couldn't hear anything else.

The acrid smell of smoke burned his nostrils, and the dust stung his eyes. He didn't know how long he had until the Careers came back, but he wanted to make sure he was out of view before that point. He froze when his eyes landed on a boot a few feet from where he knelt. His gaze swept across the grass, stopping when it landed on a mangled hand. Sitting up suddenly, he surveyed the surrounding area, his eyes landing on several bits of flesh and obliterated body parts. Axel.

Peeta's stomach lurched, and he doubled over, puking up all the water he had just swallowed. He heaved long after his stomach was empty, tears and mucous streaming down his face. "Oh, God," he gasped, burying his face in his hands. He had tried to warn him, he had, but he couldn't wait any longer; he didn't know what Axel was going to do with that spear.

_No_, he reminded himself grimly; the boy wasn't a Career. He wasn't a fighter. He was trying to defend himself, trying to run. _I killed him._

With a choked moan, Peeta sat back on his haunches; he forced himself to take deep, labored breaths. His head swam, and he became aware of a throbbing on the side of his head. Tentatively touching the tender spot, he drew his hand back, his fingers smeared with blood. He must have been hit with something during the explosion.

Gritting his teeth, Peeta forced himself to his feet. He needed to move. He kept his eyes trained ahead, avoiding looking at any more of the wreckage and guts, wobbling back into the woods. He made it a few feet before he collapsed. He felt woozy; he didn't think he could go any farther right then. Crawling on his hands and knees, he found an area of thick underbrush and buried himself underneath the heavy foliage. He tried piling some leaves on top of his body, but he was too tired. Feeling himself slipping into unconsciousness, he hoped he'd be able to wake up again.

* * *

It was the sound of shouts that roused his consciousness from the black void. It took him several moments to piece together where he was and what the shouts were about, and the memory of blowing up the supplies rushed back to him. The Careers must have returned. Stifling a groan, Peeta pushed himself to his hands and knees shakily and pushed the foliage out of his way. It was dark out, but he could just make out the forms of Cato and Clove, standing amongst the debris that was once their camp. The ringing in his ears had subsided, and Peeta could tell Cato was irate, screaming obscenities and kicking at half-destroyed crates. He wasn't sure, but it looked like Cato picked up one of Axel's dismembered legs and hurled it into the lake. Clove stood off to the side, her arms crossed stiffly over her chest as she shook her head in dismay. He felt a moment of triumph, but it was fleeting. Watching Cato come completely unhinged sent a chill down his spine. Peeta wondered if they thought it was him or someone else who had caused the explosion. He could only make out snippets of their conversation through the trees.

"...Axel stepped on..."

"...too smart...someone else..."

"Whoever...we'll see...the sky..."

Peeta gathered that the District 2 tributes figured whoever had set off the mines had been killed in the explosion along with Axel. Easing himself back to the ground, he decided to wait out their next move. He still felt weak and exhausted.

The sky grew darker as night settled over the arena. Cato and Clove picked through the remains of the supplies, trying to find anything that was salvageable. When the anthem played, they looked to the sky to see the dead tributes. When the song ended with only a picture of Axel, they huddled together to discuss their next course of action. Their voices were inaudible this time, but Peeta saw Clove point in the direction of the field to the south of their camp, and then the two donned their night goggles and set off in that direction. He waited for them to disappear before he moved, sitting up and removing his backpack. It, along with his clothes were still damp, and he unzipped it. Everything was waterlogged, but he ate the soggy roll and jerky anyway. Seeing the flashlight, he cringed as he pulled it out and tried to turn it on. It was dead. He would have to travel back to the cave in the dark. There was a decent amount of moonlight illuminating the arena, but the trees were thick, obscuring most of the light. If he stuck to the stream, however, he should be able to make his way back to the cave. He took his knife back out and slipped his pack back onto his shoulders.

The hike was long, longer than before due to his exhaustion, and he found himself stumbling a lot over unseen stones and branches, but he kept to the stream. He was relieved to see the first tendrils of daylight peeking through the leaves above him, and he sensed, more than saw, that he was getting close to the cave. By the time he reached the familiar rocky terrain, dawn was breaking over the horizon behind him.

That was when he heard Rue scream.

He was running before he knew it, crashing through the trees and hurdling over rocks. "RUE!" he yelled, rounding the bend that led to the cave. Marvel was standing over Rue's prostrate form on the edge of the stream, pulling his spear out of her neck, when Peeta slammed into him, roaring with rage. They tumbled to the ground, splashing in the shallow stream, but Peeta rolled on top of Marvel, fisting the District 1 tribute's hair in one hand and bashing his head into the ground. Marvel grabbed the hand in his hair and twisted it away, but Peeta reared back his right hand and punched him in the nose, hard. Crying out, Marvel stilled only briefly as the agony shot through his face, and Peeta took advantage of the moment to grapple for the knife he had dropped when he tackled Marvel and quickly shoved it through his chest, crunching through the bones of his sternum. The boy's eyes widened, and he let out a low, pained groan, like that of a dying animal. Peeta yanked the knife out and scrambled off the body just as a cannon fired.

"No!" he cried, spinning around and dropping to his knees beside Rue's lifeless body. Blood poured forth from the angry wound in her neck, pooling around her, and her eyes stared up at the sky, unseeing. "No," he repeated, covering her neck in vain with his trembling hand. "No. No. No." His voice cracked, and he gasped, choking on a sob. Dropping his head to her chest, he hunched over her form as his body heaved with sobs. "I'm sorry, Rue. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry." Another cannon fired; Marvel was dead, too.

Peeta cried for what felt like hours, racked with anguish. He knew the Gamemakers would want him to move so they could remove the bodies, but he didn't care; he didn't want to let go of her yet. Finally, he sat up, swiping at his tears and smearing her blood on his cheeks. He just didn't care. He stared at her chalky face, and suddenly he was aware of the birds singing faintly around him. Mockingjays. Touching his pin, his shaky hands fumbled to unfasten it. He pinned it to her jacket, gingerly smoothing his fingers over it.

"Can you hear them, Rue? They're singing for you," he whispered. He tried to smile at her, but there wasn't any feeling in it. His heart felt like it had splintered into pieces. "You were a good little sister, Rue. I'll miss you. Goodbye." He kissed her forehead softly, then he stood up and forced himself to step away from her. He walked a few feet before sliding to the ground against a tree. And he watched as, first, the hovercraft picked up Marvel's body and then Rue's. As her body ascended, he pressed three fingers of his left hand to his mouth, then raised it to her in thanks, and goodbye.

Peeta didn't move for a while after that. He knew he should find shelter, somewhere else, because surely if Marvel had found the cave, Cato and Clove would eventually, too. But what did it matter? He had failed Rue, just like he had failed Coralie. He had killed Marvel without a second thought, had been filled with so much hate and anger; he didn't even recognize himself anymore. So what did it matter if Cato or Clove found him? He didn't feel like fighting anymore.


	10. I won't let you choke

**X. I won't let you choke on the noose around your neck**

Katniss wasn't sure who she was expecting on the other side of her door when she heard a knock, but it most definitely wasn't Effie Trinket.

The District 12 escort stood on the front porch of the Everdeen household, looking all sorts of out of place in her electric blue skirt suit and lilac wig. Katniss stared at the woman incredulously, but Effie was unfazed by the girl's less than welcoming expression, smiling widely at Katniss.

"Are you Katniss Everdeen?" she asked in an impossibly upbeat voice.

"Yes. Are you lost?" Katniss asked, throwing a look over her shoulder to her mother and Prim, who sat in the living room equally dumbfounded.

Effie tittered. "Oh, no, dear! I have a letter for you." She pulled out an envelope from the breast of her jacket, holding it out to Katniss with her gloved hand. Hesitantly, Katniss took the letter, but Effie looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to open it. Annoyed, Katniss slid her finger into the envelope flap and ripped it open. Pulling out the letter, she unfolded it and carefully smoothed out the creases before she read it. Then she read it again, her eyes staring at the words without comprehending.

_If you want to help save the boy, you need to tell them about the bread._

–_Haymitch_

Her mouth parted, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion. She glanced back at Effie, who continued to watch her face obliviously.

"What is it, Katniss?" Prim called from behind her impatiently.

"I—" Katniss paused, not really sure herself, but Effie piped up.

"Are you ready for your close-up, dear?" she teased with a secretive smile, then she motioned over her shoulder to someone Katniss couldn't see. "Yoo hoo! We're ready, boys!" And before Katniss could object, Effie barreled into their house with two insect-like creatures on her heels. No, Katniss realized, they were cameramen from the Capitol, dressed in bizarre helmets and outfits.

"What do you mean?" Katniss inquired, her voice strained as Effie and her henchmen pushed past her into the kitchen.

"We're here to interview you, dear!" she exclaimed. "We've reached the Top 8 tributes. It's very exciting; this is the first year I've gotten the chance to do interviews!"

"For—for Peeta, you mean?" Katniss stuttered, her face paling.

"Of course! You are Katniss, correct? The girl everyone's been talking about?" Effie didn't wait for an answer, turning her attention to the other occupants of the house. "Why, hello! My name is Effie! It's so nice to meet you!"

Prim and their mother introduced themselves nervously. "Would you like some tea?" Mrs. Everdeen asked politely, smoothing down her hair self-consciously.

"That would be lovely, thank you!" Effie chirped, spinning back around to Katniss. "So, where should we do this? Perhaps here, in the kitchen?" She pursed her lips, her eyes pinched in consternation as she surveyed the small room. "It's a little drab, though...I guess it has a certain kind of charm, doesn't it? Oh, yes, I think the audience might find this quaint, and they'll be even more sympathetic to your—condition," she breezed dismissively, and Katniss clenched her fists.

"Well, have a seat, dear!" Effie continued, waving to the kitchen table, but then she paused, seeming to really notice Katniss for the first time. "Um, perhaps you have something else you want to change into? Something a little...nicer?"

Her face flushed in anger and embarrassment, and Katniss looked down at her worn pants and her dingy, threadbare button-up shirt. "No, this is fine," she said as evenly as she could, gritting her teeth. Her mother shuffled behind her into the kitchen to make the tea. Katniss sat down stiffly at the kitchen table, and Effie pulled out the chair opposite her, sniffing disdainfully as she tugged off one of her gloves to dust the seat. Then she perched on the edge, as if she was afraid to touch anything and possibly dirty her outfit.

Katniss fidgeted with her braid, glancing nervously between Effie and the cameramen. "What do you want to interview me about exactly?" she asked, her eyes seeking out the television behind them, where Peeta was hiking through the woods, heading to the lake to blow up the Careers' supplies. His plan put her on edge, with how precariously close it put him to the Careers who were eager to kill him—not to mention how dangerous his idea to set off the mines was, period.

"Well, dear, whatever you want to tell me about Peeta Mellark. Who is he? What does he mean to you?" There, she winked suggestively, and Katniss wanted to hide under the table. "Haymitch told me you were the girl to talk to!"

Katniss pondered Haymitch's letter, his words filling her with dread. _Tell them about the bread_. How had he known? Peeta must have told him. This revelation angered her. Had he painted her as some helpless, needy Seam girl begging for Merchant handouts? Did Haymitch want her to talk Peeta up as some great knight in shining armor to get more Capitol sponsors? How could he expect her to go on national television and bare her soul about the worst, rock-bottom moment of her life? It was humiliating. But, watching Peeta on the TV screen, her anger deflated. Somehow, whatever he had told Haymitch, she didn't think Peeta had intended for him to use it against her, to benefit him in some way. That didn't sound like him; until the reaping, no one except her and Peeta had even known about the incident with the bread. He had kept her secret all these years, and he had never tried to hold it over her head in all that time.

He confused her. When he had joined the Careers, she had been so angry, so disgusted, so perplexed; Gale had snorted derisively as they watched in the town square, giving her a sideways glance, as if to say, "I told you so." And she had been embarrassed, having defended him, having misjudged him so greatly. She had thought of his words in the Justice Building and in his final interview with Caesar, and she wondered if he had just been manipulating her the whole time, misleading them all just for the sake of sponsors?

But then he had killed that District 8 girl, which should have appalled her, but if anyone recognized a mercy kill, it was Katniss. She watched him comfort the girl in her dying moments, and her revulsion crumbled. And then he had tried to save Coralie with the tracker jackers—something she was certain never happened in all the games she had seen, a tribute saving another from death—and Katniss realized she hadn't misjudged him. Begrudgingly, she could understand his motivations for joining the Careers, even if she knew it was something she could never do, and, watching him with Rue and the tenderness with which he handled her, her heart had softened. She was almost horrified at just how relieved she was to find she hadn't misjudged him at all. He was still the boy with the bread.

He had saved her life, and now, she needed to help save his. She thought about Peeta's interview and his declaration of adoration for her and, more recently, his talk with Rue about their first day of school and hearing her sing. Katniss hadn't sang since her father died; she couldn't believe that he could remember what her voice sounded like and that he could recall such vivid details about her from something that happened more than 10 years ago. She had been watching that moment with her mother and Prim, her heart nearly stopping at the mention of her father and her mother's near betrothal to Peeta's father. When she had looked at her mother for confirmation, she had nodded, her face pinched and haunted. Katniss had never been more confused in her life, and Haymitch's imperative in his letter just baffled her more. Was this all a strategy? Something the two of them had orchestrated to tilt the odds in his favor, weave a story of star-crossed lovers to curry favor among Capitol viewers for the unfortunate baker's son from District 12? Peeta was a convincing storyteller, she had realized fairly quickly in the games; she saw how easily he lied and manipulated the Careers, how he so masterfully sweet-talked Caesar in his interview. Was it all an act, what he felt for her?

The grating whistling of the teapot on the stove startled her from her thoughts. She realized, to her chagrin, that Effie was staring at her expectantly as she waited for Katniss to talk. At that moment, Mrs. Everdeen set down a cup of tea in front of Effie, who thanked her profusely and sipped the hot liquid daintily. The cameramen waved off her mother's offer of tea as they set up their equipment to record the interview. Katniss cleared her throat uncomfortably, glancing one last time at Peeta's face on the TV screen to steel her nerves. If Haymitch wanted her to play her part in order to bring Peeta home, she would do it; she owed him that much. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Good!" Effie said, clapping her hands together. One of the insects extended a microphone over the table, and it dangled just over Katniss' head. A red light shone on the camera. "Whenever you're ready, dear. Just talk directly to me."

Taking a deep breath, Katniss kept her gaze trained on Effie's thin, dusty eyebrows. "Peeta and I...are not friends," she began, and she could see Effie's eyebrows crease in confusion. She touched her braid nervously. "I had never spoken to him before...before his name was called at the reaping. But I've—I kept tabs on him without even realizing it. I've watched him from afar for the past five years, at school, in town, at the bakery. Five years ago...Peeta Mellark saved my life." There, Katniss' eyes sought out her sister, who watched her eagerly from the couch with Buttercup curled in her arms, and Katniss drew strength from Prim's expression of encouragement to divulge the rest of her story.

"I was 11 years old, and I had just lost my father in a, in a coalmine explosion. My mother was—she was too sick to work, and my sister and I had nothing to eat and no way to feed ourselves. I was watching my sister deteriorate before my eyes, but there was nothing I could do to help her. I went to town one day, to try to sell some old clothes, but no one would buy them. No one would help us. I—I looked in the, in the trashcans behind some of the Merchant stores, hoping to find some measly scraps of food, but they were all empty. Then the baker's wife came out and chased me away. But I saw him, Peeta, through the door, watching me. He must have seen how desperate I was, how hungry I was...how hopeless. I had collapsed behind the bakery. It was raining so hard, but I was just so tired, and I just didn't know what to do anymore...But then I heard a noise inside the bakery, someone yelling—it sounded like someone had gotten hit. And then I saw Peeta come out, carrying two burnt loaves of bread, and his mother was yelling at him to feed them to the pigs. He had a red mark on his cheek, like he had been struck. He started to give the bread to the pigs, but when his mother went back inside...he threw the bread to me instead.

"To this day, I can still remember the smell, the taste of that bread. It was full of raisins and nuts. I was hesitant to take the bread—I found it hard to believe that someone I didn't even know was so willing to help me. But I took the bread home, and it was the first meal, the first substantial amount of food my sister and I had eaten in months. I think it is still the most magnificent thing I have ever eaten in my life. The next day, at school, I tried to thank Peeta, but I just—I didn't know how. I couldn't find the words. I looked at him from across the schoolyard, but he looked away. And when I glanced down, I saw a dandelion...and it gave me hope. I suddenly knew how I could feed my family. That night, my sister and I went to the meadow and picked a bunch of dandelions and had a salad made of dandelion stems for dinner. My father, before he died, had taught me all about edible plants, and I quickly learned how and where to find them. My sister and I haven't gone hungry since that day...all because Peeta Mellark was the only person willing to help us at the time."

Finished with her story, Katniss paused, shaking herself from the memory of that day, and she realized Effie was crying silently, tears sliding down her heavily painted cheeks. She was glad she had the foresight to leave out any mention of hunting, as it would be considered poaching and would be a punishable offense. Katniss looked to her mother, who stood behind the cameramen, her face downcast and ashen, no doubt ashamed at having failed her daughters when they needed her most, and then she looked at Prim, whose own eyes shone with tears but who flashed her a watery smile. Katniss licked her lips and looked at the camera, pursing her lips as she considered her next words. "I just...I want him to come home," she said softly. "I—we're not friends, but—but I want to be. I want to know him better. He's a good person, and I just want the chance to find out more."

Her cheeks flushed lightly, and she had to fight back a cringe. The words didn't sound quite right to her own ears, and she felt silly and vulnerable. But Effie whimpered, waving to the cameramen to stop filming, and she pulled out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes and cheeks. "Oh, my. That—that was such a beautiful story. You poor creature. And Peeta! What a sweet, wonderful boy. But, oh, him in the games, and you back here, waiting for him..." Effie reached across the table and squeezed Katniss' hand tightly. Katniss stared at the gloved hand covering hers, rattled by the gesture. She had never thought much of Effie Trinket, and the thought that someone who eagerly shipped children off to their deaths could feel a modicum of sympathy for another human being was bewildering.

"Thank you," Katniss said stiffly, unsure of how else to respond. She was out of words, and she just hoped her story was what Haymitch was looking for, hoped it was enough to help Peeta.

Taking one last sip of her tea, Effie pushed her chair back and stood up. "I really must thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Everdeen, and thank you, Katniss, for sharing your story. It was such a lovely story. I think we'll get a lot of sponsors from it!" she said in a sing-song voice, and Katniss tried not to roll her eyes at the woman's vapidness. "We really must be going, though. We have a few more interviews to do. Goodbye!"

With that, she swished out of their kitchen and out the front door, taking her crew with her. Katniss sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging as she slumped in her seat. Prim set Buttercup down and shuffled into the kitchen to her sister's side, putting her arms around her shoulders in a hug. "I'm proud of you," she whispered.

"Thanks, Little Duck." Katniss smiled tremulously. She couldn't look at her mother yet, so she focused her gaze on the TV screen, wondering just how long she had until the entire country knew about her and the boy with the bread.

* * *

_**Author's note:** I have enjoyed reading all of your reviews so much! The last chapter was tough to write. In canon, Katniss does end up doing a lot of the dirty work. With her out of the equation, the horrifying tasks of endangering and potentially killing other tributes has to fall to Peeta if he wants to live. And as he is quite a pacifist, it's hard to reconcile these actions with his better nature, but as some of you pointed out, he's also a pragmatist. I've always wondered, with his history of abuse, just how far he could be pushed before he responded violently; abuse is a cycle, and I think a lot of victims, though they abhor violence and its perpetrators, might just find themselves lashing out violently if pushed too far. I think we see glimpses of Peeta's rage in "Catching Fire" when he destroys a lamp and a statue in the District 11 Justice Building and yells at Katniss, a side he hadn't really displayed until that point (aside from slapping Haymitch's glass out of his hand). I imagine he struggles a lot with these conflicting aspects of his personality, and going forward, I look forward to exploring his guilt and self-hate he likely suffers from (does that sound sick?)._


	11. Weep for yourself, my man

**XI. Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart**

Peeta was still slumped against the tree next to the stream when the silver parachute floated down from the sky, coming to rest a few feet away from him on the muddy shore. It had landed almost exactly where Rue's body had been—the spot where she had died—and he could still see the stain where her blood had seeped into the ground, the stream water having yet to wash it away.

_My first parachute,_ he mused humorlessly. But he didn't grab it immediately. He didn't know what Haymitch could have possibly sent him at this point in the games, but he doubted it mattered. There was nothing Haymitch could give him to make him give a damn anymore. Despite his best efforts, the Capitol had managed to turn him into just another piece in their games. _"Don't lose yourself,"_ Portia had told him, but he had, he had. He was lost.

The sun was low in the sky by the time he finally stirred, and it was the growing hunger in his stomach that forced him to break his personal stalemate. He checked through his backpack but realized he must have eaten the last of his food during his trek back to the cave. With a sigh of resignation, he stood up on his shaky legs and crept up to the parachute. Sitting back down, he twisted the container open to reveal a large loaf of bread and another, smaller container. The bread smelled heavenly, making his stomach rumble, and he touched it gingerly. It was still warm. Picking it up, he tore it in half, noticing the bread was full of raisins and nuts. They made bread similar to it at his father's bakery, and the thought caused his heart to constrict painfully as memories of his family rushed through his mind. He held the bread to his nose and inhaled deeply, thinking about his father and his brothers. He wondered what they thought about him now. Were they disappointed in him, horrified at the things he had done? He thought of his mother and what she thought of him now. He wondered if she missed him at all, if she even wanted her youngest son to come back home. The last time he had seen her, she had had little words of comfort or encouragement to give him, seeming more concerned with his not shaming their family while in the games. He assumed he had failed in that regard, too; he could never make her happy.

Peeta wondered why Haymitch had sent the bread to him. To let him know his family was still rooting for him? Were they the only people back home who cared anymore? Halfheartedly, Peeta removed the lid from the second container; the sight of a large bowl of greens greeted him, confusing him even more. _Grass?_ he thought, but then he noticed the single, little yellow flower that sat on top of the bed of greens, and he realized they were dandelion stems. He touched the flower, and suddenly he was hit with the image of a scraggly, 11-year-old Katniss Everdeen looking at him from across the schoolyard then stooping down to pick a lone dandelion flower. His mouth parted in wonder. He looked at the bread again, and he remembered. The bread he had given to her that fateful day, it had been from a batch of their raisin and walnut bread. This _was_ the bread they made at home.

"Katniss," he breathed in awe as he delicately picked up the dandelion flower. Did she have something to do with this? There was no way Haymitch could have known about the bread and the dandelion unless she had told him. But why? Why had she done that? Was she trying to help him? Was she pulling for him to win? Even after everything he had done?

Tears pricked his eyes, but he found himself smiling. Looking at the bright yellow petals of the dandelion, for the first time in a while, he felt hope. Katniss Everdeen wanted him to live. She wanted him to come home. And he could do it, for her. He would. If there was anything worth fighting for now, it was her.

Eagerly, he tore into the bread with his teeth, chewing a few, hearty bites, before eating half the salad. He decided to save the rest. As he packed the leftovers in his backpack, he felt a drop of rain on his nose. Then another on his cheek and another on his forehead. Looking up, he noticed the heavy clouds that had rolled in. Rain began falling steadily around him. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the raindrops beating down on his face. Then he stood up and staggered into the cave, curling up under his blanket to sleep. But he still held the dandelion in his fingers, and he placed it on the ground next to his head. He stared at it for a while before the rhythmic sound of the downpour outside lulled him to sleep.

A cannon shot woke him hours later, and even then, he wasn't sure what it was that had roused him from sleep until he heard another cannon minutes later. But he wondered if it was thunder as he listened to the rain fall in relentless sheets outside. Water trickled down the cave walls, and he shivered from the cold. His clothes were still slightly damp from his fall in the lake. He lay under his blanket for a while longer until he heard the anthem begin to play. Then he crawled to the edge of the cave to peek out, finding a faint image of the seal in the sky through the rain and the trees. He was surprised to see Clove's face, followed by Thresh's. So the Careers must have found Thresh in that field. Peeta wondered how they had died; the cannon shots had come very close together. Had Thresh killed Clove before Cato killed him? Did they think it was Thresh who had destroyed their supplies?

When the anthem ended, Peeta lay back down. Who did that leave? Cato. And him. And Carmine, he remembered, the District 5 tribute he hadn't seen since the beginning of the games. So there were only three tributes left. Could he do it? Could he outlive two more people? He pinched the dandelion between his fingers again, the stirring of hope he had felt earlier blooming in his chest now, like the little flower weed he held in his hand. He couldn't help but smile, amazed at how only a few hours ago everything had seemed so bleak, so pointless. But the thought of Rue sobered him immediately, and he curled up on his side. He would fight, for her, too. Katniss gave him the hope, but Rue gave him the resolve; he would get out of this arena, and he would do what he could to honor her memory, to make her life and her death _mean_ something. It was the least she deserved from him.

He decided to sleep then and wait out the rain, and then he would figure out his next move.

* * *

The rain was still falling when he awoke the next morning, but it was lighter. It eventually tapered off, and when the clouds parted, Peeta could tell it was early afternoon by the position of the sun. He ate the rest of the bread and the dandelion salad, then he cautiously ventured out to the stream to fill up his water bottle. He drank the entire thing, before filling it up again. His stomach felt full for the first time in a few days, but he craved meat. _What I wouldn't give for one of Katniss' squirrels right now_, he thought to himself wryly.

Back in the cave, he packed up what little supplies he had left. Staring at the dandelion one last time, he slid it into his pocket for safekeeping. He couldn't find his knife, so he walked back to the stream, scanning the ground. He found it near the shore, partially covered by pebbles and mud. He also found Marvel's spear, and he tossed it into the water. The stream had risen during the downpour, gorged with rain, but he noticed how bright the sun seemed now, how hot it felt beating down on his head, hotter than it had the entire games. The stream seemed smaller now, the flood lines indicating the previous width of the stream when the water level had risen. The Gamemakers were probably trying to drain all the streams and ponds in the woods, maybe to drive the remaining tributes to the last water source, the lake. He wasn't going to stick around to find out, though; he would head to the lake now. He was ready to end these games already. As he began the hike back, he wondered if it was too much to hope that Cato and Carmine took each other out, but he knew that was wishful thinking; somehow, he knew it was going to be him and Cato fighting to the death. _Just like Cato wants_, he thought grimly.

Although the sun sank lower in the sky, it seemed to get hotter. Peeta stopped to take off his jacket and stuff it in his backpack, but he kept his knife in his hand. The stream continued to dwindle until it was bone dry; he was glad he had drank his fill of water earlier and still had a full water bottle. He drank from it periodically, driven to thirst by the stifling summer air and his exertion from the hike. He could feel the sting of sunburn on his forehead, his nose and his arms, and he was grateful for dusk when the sun finally set, despite the foreboding feeling of having to trek through the woods in the dark.

He wasn't sure how far he had traveled when he was pulled up short by a distant, bloodcurdling scream. His breath hitched in his throat as he listened to the tortured, broken screams that seemed to drag on until, finally, they stopped. Everything was chillingly silent until the cannon shot rang through the arena. His heart was racing. The scream sounded like a girl's, Carmine's, and he wondered if Cato had found her. What could he have done to her to make her scream for so long, though? Needlessly torturing someone and drawing out her death didn't seem like Cato's style, not at this point in the games, anyway. The thought shook him to his core, and after a few minutes he forced himself to keep moving.

When he finally breached the clearing beyond the woods, stepping out into the open, he surveyed the lake but saw no one. Gathering his nerves, he headed toward the water. The moon was bright, illuminating his surroundings with a faint glow. Peeta could still see the wreckage from the explosion. He was almost to the lake when he heard something behind him. Whirling around, he scanned the tree line, his eyes straining in the dark. It sounded like...barking. Or growling. Just then, he saw Cato emerge from the woods, running full speed, and Peeta braced himself, holding his knife up in front of him, but then something else emerged not far behind Cato. Several somethings. Like dogs or wolves...large wolves. _Mutts_, Peeta realized as his heart leapt into his throat, and Cato was leading them right toward him. He turned on his heel right as Cato breezed past him, weaponless and seemingly more worried about the mutts chasing him than taking heed of Peeta. He was heading for the cornucopia, so Peeta followed him, sprinting as hard as he could; he hoped it was too high for the mutts to jump.

Cato reached the cornucopia first, practically clearing it in one bound, and he pulled himself up to the top. Peeta launched himself at the horn, his hands scrambling to find purchase, but he slipped down; he wedged his foot into a ridge before he could slide all the way to the ground, and he threw his knife on top of the cornucopia, freeing his hands to grab onto an edge of the metal horn and pulling himself up just as the mutts reached the bottom. One leapt at him, narrowly missing snapping its jowls around his foot, and he scrambled backward. It didn't look like they could jump high enough, which offered him momentary relief, but his heart was still pounding in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

He almost forgot about Cato until the District 2 tribute slammed into him from the side, both of them skidding across the metal surface. Cato pinned his shoulders down and punched him in the face, and Peeta cried out in pain as blood spurted from his nose, but he got his arms up in time to block the second punch. Cato bore his weight down on Peeta's arms, Peeta's forgotten knife in his hand as he angled it at Peeta's neck. Peeta's face flushed red from the strain of holding Cato back, but he knew he couldn't keep it up for long, something Cato seemed to sense as well; the District 2 boy grinned in triumph, his eyes glinting with homicidal rage.

"I told you you were mine, Twelve," he snarled.

Desperate, Peeta tried to kick his legs out, but Cato's body trapped them. He was sure Cato could see his fear because his smirk grew wider, as if he was enjoying Peeta's struggle. Peeta looked around for something, anything—and that's when he saw it: a bloody, gaping gash streaking down Cato's right side. Gritting his teeth, Peeta kept his right arm up to hold back Cato's knife-wielding hand and wiggled his left arm free. Then he jammed his fingers into Cato's wound, digging into the wet flesh. Cato howled in pain, pulling back slightly, and Peeta grabbed both his arms and pulled him down, bringing his head up to smash into Cato's chin. The District 2 tribute grunted, sitting back, and Peeta, lifting his knees up to his chest, got them under Cato and shoved him off with all his strength. Cato stumbled backward and slipped off the side, but he grabbed Peeta's left foot as he fell, dragging Peeta with him. Crying out in surprise, Peeta latched onto a ridge of the horn with his fingers, preventing Cato from pulling him down. Cato dangled from his foot, and Peeta felt a stabbing pain in his leg—Cato had stabbed the knife into his calf. Gasping, Peeta tried to shake Cato loose, but the boy held on tight.

Then he heard Cato scream, and Peeta felt a yank on his lower half. He could hear the scrape of nails as the mutts jumped at the cornucopia, snapping at their prey. Beneath him, Cato let out a strangled wail; Peeta felt the boy's grasp loosen around his foot, and the knife seemed to rip through his flesh. An agonized scream ripped from Peeta's throat. He felt the blade wrenched from his calf, and he felt lighter. The mutts had Cato now.

Peeta pulled his body to the top, collapsing on his stomach. When he heard Cato's howls pierce the night air, he scrambled to the edge of the cornucopia, dragging his injured leg behind him, and he flinched in horror as he watched the mutts pile on top of the District 2 tribute. "Cato!" he called out weakly, but he was helpless. He couldn't help him; Cato would get no quick death. Peeta knew it was either him or Cato—he was ready to accept that—but there was something particularly horrible about being ripped to pieces by a vicious pack of dogs. Surely, the Capitol viewers were eating this up.

Every once in a while a mutt would yelp in pain as Cato stabbed them with his knife, but there were too many of him to fend off, and they were too bloodthirsty to be deterred. Woozy, Peeta pushed himself from the edge of the horn. He couldn't look anymore; he was too lightheaded from the pain in his leg. He glanced down at his calf, and all the color drained from his face as he realized just how much blood was spilling from it. The sight made him sick, and he gasped, dropping his head to the cornucopia. He was losing too much blood; it felt like his blood pressure was dropping, and his skin felt clammy. Listening to Cato's screams and the clanging of metal as his knife occasionally struck the side of the cornucopia, Peeta realized he needed to stop the blood flow from his wound immediately—or he might just die first. Pulling his jacket out of his backpack, he weakly tied a tourniquet just below his knee and yanked the knot as tight as he could. Then he fell back down against the cornucopia, rolling to his back. He tried to focus on the night sky, his eyes searching for the familiar stars he knew from back home, but his eyelids drooped repeatedly, and his vision swam. He was losing consciousness, fast.

_I'm not going to make it_, he realized as desperation gripped his heart. With the last bit of strength he could muster, he reached his hand into his pocket, his body sagging in relief as his hand closed around the dandelion. _Just hold on_, he told himself, and his eyes closed for the last time, Cato's choked cries chasing him into the oblivion.


	12. All I ever wanted was your life

**XII. All I ever wanted was your life**

It was the soft hum of machines that pulled him from the depths of unconsciousness, the quiet, measured beeps beating out a rhythm in sync with his faint heartbeat. Peeta could see the muted glow of white lights behind his closed eyelids, but it took a considerable effort to finally open them. Blinking slowly, he squinted against the translucent lights that hung above him, and his eyes roamed his surroundings—white walls and curtains—until they rested on Haymitch.

"Morning, sweetheart. Did you have a nice nap?" Haymitch's tone was wry, but his expression was soft. Peeta could see how pale his face was, emphasizing the dark circles under his mentor's eyes.

It felt like cotton balls had been stuffed in his mouth. When he tried to swallow, his throat was too dry. Prying his chapped lips apart, he opened his mouth to speak, but a cracked squeak came out instead. He tried again, the corners of his mouth curved in a frown.

"Hay...mitch. What...happened?" His voice was hoarse, foreign to his ears.

"You won, kid."

It was simple as that. And even though his location and Haymitch's presence alone were enough to confirm that fact, Peeta still found it difficult to comprehend. "How?" was all he could think to ask.

Haymitch's thin lips pulled into a bitter smirk. "You managed not to die before Cato. Congratulations."

Cato. Peeta remembered the cornucopia, the mutts, waiting to die as blood wept from his leg. He could still hear Cato's screams. "Where am I?" he asked, trying to stop his mind from traveling any further down that path.

Haymitch slumped down into an uncomfortable chair beside Peeta's bed, pulling out a flask from his jacket and taking a sip. "You're in a hospital in the Capitol. They're fixing you up all nice and pretty before they show you off again. You weren't looking too hot when they pulled you out of the arena."

Peeta furrowed his eyebrows. "Pulled me out?"

"You were unconscious. Gave me and Effie quite a scare, kid. I didn't know if you'd make it before those mutts managed to finish Cato off. I think you gave the Gamemakers quite a fright too," he said with an amused smile. "When the hovercraft lifted you up, they probably thought they might not have any victor this year. And they almost didn't. They brought you in, and the doctors went to work on reviving you immediately. Your heart stopped a couple times."

"Oh." Peeta wasn't sure how to react to that news. He guessed it wasn't as unsettling as it should have been; hadn't he really been on the brink of death since the moment he entered the arena? But he noted the tightness of Haymitch's mouth and the wrinkles at his eyes. He looked like he had aged another few years since he last saw him. "How long...how long have I been out?"

"Four days," Haymitch replied, and that surprised him a little. His mentor seemed to see the question in his face because he explained, "Most of it they kept you under while they fixed your wounds and scars. But they also had to perform extensive...surgery."

"Surgery?" he repeated, confused, but then it hit him. "My leg..." Haymitch nodded, and Peeta glanced down at his lower body. He could see two outlines of his legs, but something felt weird. Or rather, he realized he couldn't feel anything at all in his left leg. "What..."

"Prosthetic. They had to amputate below your left knee. The skin tissue was dead. I'm sorry, kid," Haymitch said grimly.

Peeta wasn't sure how he felt. He didn't know if the full weight of all that had happened had hit him yet. Or maybe they just had him on too many drugs to keep him numb. "It was the tourniquet, I guess. I shouldn't have..."

"If you hadn't, you definitely would have been dead when they pulled you out of the arena," Haymitch said firmly. "You got a fancy new leg now, though. The best the Capitol has to offer. Of course, it's up to you to decide if you want to keep it or not, but they're gonna make you leave it on for your interview with Caesar, at least."

Peeta nodded absently, still staring at the outline of his prosthetic. He could tell now, the differences between it and his right leg, just through the white hospital sheet. "And when is my interview?"

"Tomorrow night, and then the next night as well. And then you go home." Haymitch smiled at him again, just a small purse of his lips, the corner lifting slightly. But it was genuine.

"And then I go home," Peeta repeated softly, for the first time feeling a spark of relief, happiness. He held onto that feeling for now, trying not to think about exactly what going home meant, what awaited him there—or didn't.

Standing up, Haymitch took another pull from his flask, then put it back in his coat. "Get some more rest in the meantime. Your stylists will help you get ready for TV tomorrow." His mentor lingered at the door, looking as if he wanted to say something. He seemed to change his mind, shaking his head. "You did good, kid," was all he said before he left. Peeta watched him leave before shifting his eyes to stare at his legs again.

* * *

Portia had him dressed in black slacks and a yellow button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar unfastened. They doctors had given him a cane to use temporarily as he got used to walking with his prosthetic. It was strange, not feeling anything below his left knee. It was kind of awkward to walk with, and he limped slightly, unused to the pressure of the metal rubbing against his knee. The flesh there was still kind of tender, having not healed completely just yet. The first time he looked in the mirror and saw the shiny metal next to the smooth, flesh-color of his real leg, he almost cried. He knew he should be grateful, thankful that he was alive and that his leg was the only thing he had lost, but it was hard on a superficial level not to feel incomplete, less than himself. Portia, sweet Portia, had done her best to comfort him at that moment, hugging him tightly before he could start weeping, and he was so glad to see her face again.

As he waited under the stage before his interview with Caesar, Haymitch found him. His mentor gripped his shoulder firmly, as if trying to offer him some reassurance. "Listen, I'm not going to lie. The next few hours or so will probably be pretty hard on you," he said, keeping his voice low, and Peeta nodded grimly, already anticipating the awful, grizzly footage he was going to be subjected to while they recapped the games. Haymitch's expression turned soberingly cross. "President Snow isn't very happy with the shit you said in your last interview. You'd do well to keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself this time, kid. And Snow isn't the kind of person you want to test. Try to be as self-deprecating and humble as you can. You remember our strategy? About Katniss? The audience is going to want to hear all about you two, and they're ready to lap that shit up with a spoon. Play it right, and you can ride that story all the way to District 12."

Peeta nodded stupidly, but he meant to ask more, to ask about the bread and the dandelions, if Katniss had something to do with it—he felt like he was missing something—but it was show time. Producers were ushering him to the metal plate, and he panicked momentarily, flashing back to when he was first lifted into the games, but Haymitch flashed him a thumbs up from his own platform before he could slip into full-blown hysterics, and he made himself breathe deeply, purposefully. Then his mentor was being lifted onto the stage, along with his stylists, and Peeta could vaguely hear the applause from above him. And then he was being lifted up to the stage as well, the bright lights briefly blinding him as his eyes adjusted.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he got on stage—silence?—but the uproarious sound of applause hit him like a wall, and he nearly lost his balance on his artificial leg, stumbling slightly as he stepped off, but Haymitch steadied him with a touch on his arm. He stared at the crowd, slack jawed, as they clambered to their feet to cheer for him, and he wanted to ask, _Why?_ _Why are you applauding me when I've killed people?_ But he remembered Haymitch's words, and he immediately plastered a wide, shy smile on his face and carefully limped over to Caesar, who waved him and his team over, clapping and encouraging the audience to cheer louder.

Caesar shook his hand enthusiastically, and then, while he congratulated the rest of his team, Peeta sat down on a couch. Unsure of where to put his cane, he just laid it down on the cushion beside him. Haymitch and Portia took up the rest of the couch, and his prep team sat on stools behind them. Settling himself down in his seat opposite Peeta, Caesar motioned for the audience to quiet down before he turned a toothy grin on Peeta.

"Welcome back, Peeta! I think I speak for all of us here when I say you gave us quite a scare at the end of those games!"

Peeta laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think I'm just as surprised as everyone else is to be back on this stage."

Caesar narrowed his eyes slightly, leaning back to cross his ankle over his other knee. "I don't know if 'surprised' is the right word for it, Peeta. Ecstatic, maybe. You have a lot of supporters here!"

There were cheers and applause from the audience, and Peeta looked out over the crowd. Everyone looked so alien to him, with their garish costumes, their frenzy at glorifying his despicable actions. He smiled anyway, trying for humble. "Well, it certainly feels good to have all your support."

Caesar's eyes glinted with something he couldn't pinpoint, something mischievous. "I think most of your support came from one young lady in particular," he said suggestively. Peeta didn't understand at first, but then he thought of Katniss. He glanced at Haymitch, then back at the audience, the cameras, laughing nervously, at a loss for words. But Caesar breezed forward, turning his attention to the cameras. "But we'll talk about that later. First, I think we need to start at the beginning, before Peeta even came to the Capitol."

The lights in the auditorium dimmed, the large screen to the side of the stage coming to life, and Peeta turned his attention to the recap. They started with footage from the opening ceremony, even some from the Training Center, then they focused on his first interview with Caesar, pieces of their banter, but they showed all of their discussion about Katniss, the girl back home who was nameless to the Capitol, and then they flashbacked to his name being called at the reaping and Katniss' reaction. From his spot on the couch, Peeta felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw her face again; he only saw her from afar during the reaping, but the cameras had zoomed in on her, and now he could see how upset she looked, how pale her face was after she shouted her dissent; she looked like she was going to faint. But then Peeta was looking at himself again, lamenting with Caesar about his unrequited love—Peeta wasn't surprised when they edited out the last thing he had said in that interview, about the killing of all the other tributes.

And then it was time for the games, and Peeta watched while he took down Cato and allied with the Careers. He was surprised at how worried, how scared his face looked that first night while he tried to sleep, but he thought he could hear murmurings of sympathy among the Capitol crowd. They showed him with Ester—his hands spasmed in his lap as he watched the blood gush from her neck under his knife—and then his betrayal of the Careers as he tried to save Coralie with the tracker jackers. With a wash of guilt, he watched himself run away and collapse under the hallucinations, and he saw for the first time how Cato gutted Coralie with his sword. Peeta inhaled sharply, closing his eyes, and he swallowed thickly, knowing the look of sheer terror on her face as Cato hovered over her would certainly be a recurring image in his nightmares. He watched the rest of the recap numbly, seeing Rue tend to him while he was unconscious, befriending her when he came to, sleeping next to her in the cave, talking to her about Katniss and home; there, they played everything he said about Katniss.

What came next was something he hadn't seen yet, didn't even know about: an interview with Katniss back in District 12. Shocked, he unconsciously leaned forward in his seat, his mouth parting slightly as he listened to her talk. He was surprised when she told the story of the bread, and suddenly the gift of the bread and the dandelion salad made sense. He glanced at Haymitch on the end of the couch, but his mentor kept his eyes on the screen, avoiding his stare. Something about this unsettled Peeta, but when he looked back at the screen and heard her next words, his heart leapt into his throat:

"_I want him to come home...We're not friends, but—but I want to be. I want to know him better. He's such a good person, and I just want the chance to find out more."_

He couldn't help the baffled, awed smile that spread across his face, but it disappeared quickly, when the following footage showed him blowing up the Careers' supplies—and Axel; him finding Marvel standing over Rue, who had been trying to catch some fish in the river when the District 1 tribute found her; him attacking Marvel and plunging his knife through his chest. Peeta could hear the crunch of bone, and his stomach churned dangerously. But watching himself with Rue, he felt numb again. He felt like he was watching it happen to someone else, and he couldn't even cry. He just felt angry, a burning resentment that smoldered in his chest, but he knew the tears would come again later. He tried to keep his face as emotionless as possible during the scene, relieved when the footage changed to him receiving the parachute from Haymitch, focusing in on the dandelion. Then it was his battle with Cato on the cornucopia, him knocking the District 2 tribute off the side and getting his leg maimed before the mutts finished Cato off. The last scene was the announcement of Peeta as the victor and the hovercraft lifting his unconscious body into the sky, droplets of blood dancing through the air.

And it was over. Peeta was glad when Caesar wrapped up the recap, but then President Snow walked out on stage with a crown. Peeta wasn't sure why the man's black, glacial stare made his blood run cold. He smiled as benignly as he could as Snow placed the crown on his head and congratulated him, but looking in his eyes, Peeta knew this man could so very easily make his life hell from this point on.

Finally, the broadcast was over, and Peeta was swept off to a victory banquet and paraded around before Capitol officials and rich citizens and self-congratulating sponsors who all wanted to shake his hand. He conversed effortlessly with the women and men who flirted with him, but he found it a little harder to speak when they asked him about Katniss. Every time, he felt his heart flutter at the mention of her name, and he would flash a bashful smile and stutter out some kind of textbook response of a boy smitten.

But he couldn't shake the niggling suspicion he had the moment he saw her interview. And he was willing to bet Haymitch had something to do with it.

* * *

_**Author's note:** One reviewer asked a question about the last chapter and I thought I'd just answer it here in case anyone else was wondering the same thing. Re: Cato being killed quickly by the mutts without body armor, I imagined the mutts are designed to maul, meaning I don't think they would kill efficiently. Chew/rip off a limb or flesh here and there, but they wouldn't know how to go for an important artery or the head like a human might, for example. I kind of thought the mutts were more interested in eating tributes/chomping on their body parts than just immediately killing them, especially because it's the Gamemakers who call them off once Cato dies (by Katniss' arrow). In the book, Cato survived for hours (well through the night and into the day, if I recall correctly). Take into account the fact that he's a strong, healthy (albeit probably hungry) able-bodied teenager with a knife, I thought he'd be able to hold his own against the mutts for a little while, at least a little longer than, say, Foxface. Before heavy blood loss set in, anyway. Just my take on the mutts and their victims :) Hope you didn't have to suspend TOO much disbelief in that chapter!_

_Only one more chapter, you guys. Thank you so much for reading my story and reviewing!_


	13. Love is not a victory march

**XIII. Love is not a victory march**

Peeta couldn't get Haymitch alone again until the next day before his last interview with Caesar; the man had done everything in his power to avoid him, but Peeta finally tracked him down.

"I need to talk to you," Peeta started, but Haymitch was already shaking his head.

"Save it for Caesar. You're gonna need to do a lot of talking then."

"But Caesar can't answer my questions," Peeta said firmly, grabbing Haymitch's arm before he could turn away. Haymitch almost growled, stepping close to Peeta.

"Boy, I really think you want to wait to talk to me after you've done your interview," he warned, but Peeta wasn't going to relent. He released Haymitch's arm but fixed him with a steely gaze.

"No, I want to know what I'm walking into. I'm not stupid. If you want me to go along with whatever plan you've concocted, you need to tell me exactly what plan I'm agreeing to."

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Haymitch sighed and didn't say anything for a moment. "Well? Ask me," he said tiredly.

At that moment, Peeta was almost too scared to ask, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, the truth. "Did you make Katniss tell the story about the bread?"

"I didn't _make_ your girl do anything—"

"But did you?" Peeta interrupted.

He sighed again. "I told her if she wanted to help save you, she needed to talk about the bread."

Peeta blinked, letting the information sink in. "So...you told her to say all that. Everything in that interview..."

Haymitch scoffed. "Don't get it twisted. I _nudged _her. The rest she did on her own. The things she said, and, even before that, at the reaping and the Justice Building, that was her."

His words were of little comfort. "But you forced her hand. She never would have...I mean, that story about the bread...she felt obligated to me. This isn't some grand love story. She did what she did because she felt like she owed me or something. Now the Capitol expects some kind of epic romance between the two of us, and she's caught in the middle. They've forced us together! This is exactly what I didn't want, Haymitch!"

He didn't know why he was so upset. Having Katniss was all he had wanted for years, but now it was tainted. Everything was all wrong.

Haymitch sneered at him in disdain. "I'm fairly certain you also didn't want to die, kid, and I did what I had to in order to save you. That's my job. Hell, I thought you'd be a little more grateful."

Peeta was incredulous. "Grateful? You went against my wishes—"

"I saved your life, and I delivered you home safely into the waiting arms of the girl you have wanted since you were 5. I thought I was giving you everything you wanted," he said snidely.

Peeta just shook his head. "Not like this. I wanted it to be real. I wanted—I wanted her to actually _want_ me, not be with me because the Capitol wants us to be."

"And I'm so incredibly sorry for you that now you're going to have to spend the rest of your life with the girl you love," Haymitch said bitingly, and Peeta clamped his mouth shut. "Look, kid, I can guarantee you this isn't even the worst thing that's probably going to happen to you. It was your shitty luck that your name was drawn, and now, having survived, I doubt your luck is going to get much better. Your fake romance with Katniss might be the only thing that saves you."

His eyes widened. "What?"

Haymitch snorted derisively. "I told you you weren't making any friends here. The things you said and did in the arena...you've made people like Snow very unhappy. You've bucked the system."

"What do you mean?"

"You made people give a damn, kid. They cried when you cried; they raged when you raged; they hoped when you hoped. And worst of all, you made them question things that should never be questioned."

Peeta was speechless, but Haymitch didn't wait for a response. "From here on out, you need to keep your head down. Or I guarantee you, Snow will make you and the people you love regret it. So keep that in mind when you're talking to Caesar."

Clapping him on the back, Haymitch slinked off and left Peeta to ruminate on his words, stunned. He didn't have long to think, however, because Caesar appeared on set, fresh from his dressing room. He greeted Peeta warmly.

"Peeta, my boy, think you can put up with me for one more hour?"

Peeta grinned automatically, shaking the man's hand. "I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be right now, Caesar." Caesar laughed and led him to his seat. Getting comfortable, Peeta put aside his conversation with Haymitch and prepared himself to sell the contrived love story they all craved.

The producer gave them the signal, and Peeta smiled as Caesar welcomed him back. "As we saw yesterday, your time in the arena was a pretty harrowing journey from the moment you stepped off that platform until the moment they lifted you out of the arena, and to be frank, at that moment, a lot of us weren't even sure how your journey was going to end," Caesar said, his tone serious.

Peeta nodded, a somber smile on his face. "It was definitely touch and go at the end there. At least, that's what I've been told."

"And your leg?"

Peeta tapped his cane to the shin of his prosthetic, making the metal clang. "Brand new."

"Well, I think we all realized early on you were a fighter. We knew a little thing like a missing leg wasn't going to stop you!" Caesar joked, patting Peeta's hand comfortingly, and Peeta nodded his agreement. "Speaking of which, you turned out to be quite the fighter. I think you held back on us prior to the games!"

Peeta shrugged modestly. "I couldn't give it all away up front, could I?"

Grinning, Caesar nodded, and then he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Did you know your list of personal kills was higher than even Cato's?"

That he was not expecting. "Wh...what?"

"You killed five tributes! I think you surprised us all," Caesar continued, oblivious to how pale Peeta's face had gone. "Who would have thought a tribute from District 12 would be such a force to reckon with?"

Peeta didn't know what to say to that, at least not something that wouldn't further endanger his life with President Snow. "Yeah...I think I surprised even myself," he said weakly, staring at his hands in his lap. Hands that had killed.

"Maybe you fought so hard because you had someone to fight for?" Caesar offered helpfully, a small smile playing on his lips, and Peeta braced himself for the conversation. Although he dreaded it, he knew it was a topic he could handle better than the one of the atrocities he had committed.

"Yeah, the thought of her kept me going. I just...wanted to make it out of there so I could at least see her one last time," Peeta said softly.

"And 'her' is Katniss Everdeen?" Caesar asked, and Peeta nodded in confirmation. "I have to tell you, the story about the bread—that was the most touching story I have ever heard, and I venture that most viewers agree. I know I shed a tear or two after hearing it. Tell me, what did you think when you got that parachute with the bread and the dandelions?"

Sitting up straighter, Peeta smoothed his palms over his pants nervously. Haymitch's words repeated themselves in his head. "Well, I...I wasn't in a good place at that moment, and I really didn't think I could go on. I didn't care about anything anymore, to be honest. But when I saw that dandelion, I had hope. I had a purpose. And that was to return home to her."

Caesar seemed touched. "The last we time talked, you said you two weren't an item. But it certainly seemed like she just might feel the same way you do. Do you think you two might reconnect when you go back?"

Peeta blushed, but his stomach twisted painfully. "If she'll have me. I can only hope I've done enough to deserve her," he said timidly. But the smile felt odd on his face, and he wanted to scream. It wasn't fair.

"Believe me, I speak for everyone when I say, we all think you have," Caesar said sincerely, touching his hand gently. "And I think if she were here, Rue would agree too."

His words felt like a punch to the gut, but somehow, Peeta managed to keep the tight smile on his face. "I hope, wherever she is now, I've managed to make her proud of me in some small way," he said stiffly, and Caesar used the opportunity to talk about Rue and Peeta's other heroic actions during the games. But Peeta had already checked out mentally. Smiling and nodding and responding appropriately. He barely registered when the interview ended, and by the time he was on the train, his cheeks hurt from the strain of smiling so widely at all the people who repeatedly stopped him to congratulate him on his way to the station. He wanted to scream at them to leave him alone, but he knew he couldn't. When he finally made it to his room on the train, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He yanked his tie loose and unbuttoned his collar, his chest constricting with his pained, shallow gasps. He was hyperventilating, he realized, and he wished he could open a window or step outside into the fresh air, but he didn't want anyone to see him breaking down. So he sat down on the edge of his bed and forced himself to take deep, even breaths through his nose. He could tell when they had left the station, the train barreling its way toward home.

Home. He was going home. The thought of seeing his family again calmed him somewhat, but doubts lingered in his mind about how everyone there, even his family and his friends, would receive him once he returned. Would they be happy to have him back, or would they reject him as just another Capitol creation, left to rot alone in the Victor's Village like Haymitch? He didn't know if he could bear it.

It took a while for his breathing to slow and his heart rate to drop, but when he finally had it under control, he dropped his head to his hands and stayed there until Effie came to get him for dinner.

* * *

As the train pulled up to the station in District 12, Peeta could see the throngs of people and cameras awaiting his arrival. He swallowed nervously, fidgeting with the buttons on his suit jacket. He jumped when Haymitch put a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced over at him.

"Try to relax, kid," Haymitch drawled with a hint of a smile, swirling the ice cubes around in his glass. "Everyone loves a victor. Well, until they don't. But you've still got a few years before the shine wears off."

Peeta raised an eyebrow at his mentor. "And when exactly did it wear off for you? Was it during your first drunken nosedive off the reaping stage or the seventh?" he asked rhetorically, but his tone was light. Haymitch just chuckled and offered Peeta the last of his drink. Peeta considered it but shook his head; he didn't want to smell like liquor when his family saw him again for the first time in weeks.

Shrugging, Haymitch downed the last of his beverage and slammed the empty glass down on a nearby table. "Well, your adoring public awaits you," he said dramatically, bowing, and Peeta walked past him to the exit where Effie and his stylists were waiting. They smiled at him excitedly, and he nodded to them, steeling himself as the doors swooshed open. As he stepped out onto the platform, the crowd roared, and he was momentarily stunned into silence before he recovered, beaming and waving at the crowd. They cheered louder, and flashes went off around him, making him squint against the brightness.

Peeta looked to his right, and his smile got impossibly wider when he saw his family waiting for him. He crossed the distance in a couple strides, and his dad was the first to pull him into a hug, his eyes shining. "My boy," he cried into his hair, and Peeta's own eyes welled with tears.

"I missed you, dad," he said softly, squeezing his father tighter.

"We're so proud of you, son."

His father let him go, and his brothers Rye and Barm grabbed him, slapping his back and congratulating him, and Peeta laughed tearfully, never so happy to see them before. He sobered slightly when he looked at his mother, who stood behind them somewhat awkwardly, a tense smile on her face. Peeta wasn't sure how to reach out to her or what to say, but she finally moved closer and hugged him stiffly. The gesture made his heart swell, but he couldn't help wonder how much of her actions were so she didn't look bad on camera. He returned the hug dutifully, and she stepped back quickly.

"Welcome back, Peeta," she said a little robotically, and Peeta smiled tightly, but a hand on his arm drew his attention back to his father.

"You have another visitor as well," his father said lightly with a small, knowing smile, and he pointed over his wife's shoulder. Craning his neck, Peeta spotted her almost immediately a few paces away behind some cameramen. His breath hitched in his throat, and his family was forgotten as he slowly moved toward her.

Katniss stood before him, dressed in the blue dress she had worn at the reaping; her dark hair was done up in the same elaborate braid as well. She had never looked more beautiful to him, and his heart fluttered dangerously. She fidgeted with her hands nervously as he walked toward her, stopping mere inches from her. She looked up at him through her lashes demurely, and Peeta stared at her in amazement, not quite believing she had come to see him. But then he became aware of the cameras hovering just a few feet away from them, and he remembered; he remembered just how hungry the viewers were for the star-crossed lovers of District 12, and he wondered if she knew. Was that why she was here? Did she understand what she had gotten herself into? Did she realize how irrevocably intertwined their lives were now? Did she know how much danger she was in?

"You came back," she said quietly, and his lips formed a sad smile.

"I came back," he repeated.

"I'm—I'm glad," she stammered, twisting her hands together nervously and glancing down at their feet. Peeta was suddenly aware of how quiet the station was, and he knew the crowd was watching their exchange anxiously.

Something tugged at his heart, and he leaned forward to close the distance between them, ducking his head so his mouth brushed against her ear. She inhaled sharply, and he lifted a hand to tuck some of the loose tendrils of her hair behind her ear. "Remember," he murmured, so low only she could hear, "we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me."

Her body tensed, and he pulled back just enough to look at her expression. Her gaze flew up to meet his, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, but he saw something curious flash through the gray depths of her eyes before it disappeared. And then she was stretching up to meet him, her soft lips pressing to his, almost urgently, and Peeta was on fire. The crowd cheered around them, but he forgot about them for just this moment, savoring the feel of her mouth against his as the girl he had coveted for all these years finally kissed him. Real or not, he knew this moment would burn in his mind forever.

Too soon, she pulled away, and she looked up at him through cloudy, lidded eyes. Licking his lips, he reached down and pressed the palm of his hand to hers. Their fingers laced together, and he motioned to the crowd with a tilt of his head. "Shall we? For the cameras?" he asked, and her brow creased slightly with confusion, but before she could respond, he turned toward the crowd and the cameras and thrust their interlocked hands high into the air in triumph. Everyone burst into applause and delight, and Peeta grinned broadly as he stared at her small hand in his, already wondering when he would have to let it go.

* * *

_**Author's note:** And it's done! Thank you so, so much for all your reviews and kinds words! It pleases me greatly that so many of you read and enjoyed my story. I am writing a sequel (I couldn't very well leave it at that, could I?), and I plan to write three stories in total to mirror Collins' trilogy. I'm only about halfway done with the sequel, and I might not post it until I've finished. It's taking longer to write than this first installment, however, because there's more detail (and much more Everlark interaction), so I might get impatient and start posting chapters before I've finished it. But I'm hesitant to do that, simply because I feel more comfortable when I've tracked out the trajectory of the story fully and can reread it a few times to make sure all the plot points line up correctly. We'll see! Again, thank you everyone! Keep an eye out for the sequel, "And Keep Your Feet on the Ground." In the mean time, shoot me any questions and follow me at atetheredmind dot tumblr dot com if you're on tumblr :)_


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